lightning. With a crash which sounded as if the gods had shattered the
vault of the heavens a bolt streamed into a tree not a hundred yards
ahead, and one of its limbs fell to the roadway. It was impossible to
stop. She saw it and crouched behind the shield. With a lurch and a leap
we passed over it.
I felt a drop of rain on my face. The trees swayed with the first gust
of the tempest. We were going down hill with full speed on. A few
hundred yards ahead was a stone culvert spanning the bed of a creek
whose waters years before had been diverted to a reservoir a mile or so
to the east. Save at rare intervals, the bed of this creek was dry.
As the recollection of this old culvert came to me I raised my eyes and
saw something which drove the blood from my heart! A quarter of a mile
ahead was a gray wall of rain, and dim through it I saw huge trees mount
into the air and twist and gyrate like leaves caught up in an air eddy.
Holding our speed for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes, we
surged toward the old culvert. Jamming on the brakes, I swung to one
side of the embankment and stopped almost on the edge of the dry bed of
the creek.
Miss Harding leaped to the ground and stood for an instant dazed. I
stumbled as I jumped, but was on my feet like a flash. The arch of the
culvert was not thirty feet away, but had we not been protected by the
embankment we should have been beaten down and killed ere we reached its
shelter.
The stones and gravel from the roadway above were dashed into our faces
by the outer circle of the tornado. Grasping Miss Harding by the arm I
dragged or carried her, I know not which, to the yawning but welcome
opening of the old stone archway.
I cannot describe what followed. It was as if the earth were in its
death throes. We were tossed back and forth in this tunnel, a resistless
suction pulling us first toward one entrance and then to the other, only
to be hurled back by buffeting blows.
There was a sense of suffocation as if the lightning had burned the air.
Our nostrils were filled with the fumes of sulphur, and we looked into
each other's frightened eyes only when some near flash penetrated the
awful blackness of what seemed our living tomb.
A tree fell across the west opening, one twisted limb projecting well
into the tunnel of the culvert. We could not distinguish the crashes of
thunder from that of hurtling trees or the demoniac roar of the tornado.
All of our senses were assailed by the unleashed furies of the tempest;
crazed with rage that we were just beyond their reach.
I cannot say how long this lasted. Observers of the tornado in other
places state that it was not more than three minutes in passing. Its
path was less than half a mile in width, but I am convinced that its
onward speed was comparatively slow else we would not have reached the
culvert from the time I first saw it until its edge struck us.
Then came a moment of appalling silence. The tornado had passed. With
this strange calm the darkness lifted and we knew that the crisis was
over.
[Illustration: "Grasping her by the arm I dragged her"]
We were near the centre of the tunnel. I became aware that I was holding
her hands and that her head was resting on my shoulder.
As the silence came like a shock, she raised her head and our eyes met.
"God has been very good to us," she said, gently releasing her hands.
"Let us thank Him."
Standing there in the rising waters we silently offered up our thanks to
the One who rides on the wings of the storm and Who had guided two of
His children to a haven of refuge.
The rain was still falling in sheets and the water had risen to our
shoe-tops. In the growing light I discovered a projecting ledge near the
centre of our shelter and helped Miss Harding to obtain a footing.
"If the water keeps on rising," she said, "we must get out of here. I am
sure the rain will not kill us."
"That's true," I admitted, "but I hope the rain will cease before the
flood reaches your ledge. It's coming down good and hard now."
It was pouring torrents. Though the crippled stream drained only a small
territory the current had already reached my knees. I waded to the east
opening and took one glance at the sky. The outlook was not encouraging,
but we could stand another eighteen-inch rise without serious discomfort
or danger. I realised that it would not do to be swept against the tree
which partially clogged the further opening.
Half an hour passed and the rain still fell and the water rose inch by
inch. We laughed and joked and were not in the least alarmed. Then the
water lapped over the ledge on which she stood. She declared that her
feet were wet as they possibly could get.
"I can stand it a few more minutes if you can," she said. "The rain is
ceasing. You poor Jacques Henri! It's all you can do to keep your feet!"
I stoutly denied it.
"I'm having a jolly time!" I declared. "I see a light in the west. The
rain will cease in a few minutes."
Even as I spoke the water rose several inches in one wave. I surmised
what had happened. A dam had formed below us and the water was backing
up. In less than a minute it had risen six inches, and was at her
shoe-tops.
"We are drowned out!" I said. "Let's get out before we have to swim for
it. Now be steady and remember your training as an equestrienne. Grab me
by the neck and hang on and we'll be out of here in a minute."
I lifted her to my left shoulder and with my free right hand steadied
myself against the wall of the tunnel. The bed of the brook was of soft
sand and formed a fairly good footing. Luckily the same cause which so
suddenly flooded us out materially lessened the force of the current,
but it still struggled fiercely against me, and a false movement on the
part of my fair burden might have led to distressing and even serious
circumstances.
The water was almost to my waist but her skirts were clear of it. I
slipped once and thought we were in trouble, but we safely reached the
opening and it was a happy moment when I placed her on solid ground. Not
that I was tired of my burden--not at all. I cheerfully would have
attempted the task of carrying her the three miles between us and Pine
Top.
A light mist was falling, but we did not notice that. We stood
spellbound, gazing on a scene of unspeakable devastation!
To the north, west and southeast the forest lay prone like a field of
wind-swept corn. Huge oaks and pines were tossed in grotesque windrows.
Here and there gnarled roots projected above the prostrate foliage. The
once proud trees lay like brave soldiers; their limbs rigid in the
contorted attitudes of death.
The line of wreck was clearly marked along its northern line but the
hills shut off our view to the west. The road to Pine Top was one mass
of trunks and twisted limbs. For some distance in the other direction
there was no forest to the right, and so far as we could see the road
was clear.
At first glance I thought the touring car a total wreck. It had been
lifted and hurled on its side against a partially dismantled stone wall.
It was half hidden by a large branch of a tree, and its rear wheels were
buried in mud and debris.
As we stood silent and awe-stricken amid this manifestation of the
insignificance of man, the sun blazed forth from behind a laggard cloud.
The effect was theatrical. It was like throwing the limelight on the
scene which marks the climax of some tense situation. Instinctively we
lifted our arms and cheered for sheer joy.
"What care we for wrecked automobiles and wet clothes?" I shouted. "We
live, we live!"
"It is good to live," she cried; "it is splendid to live!"
We smilingly saluted His Majesty the sun once again, and then returned
to earth.
"What shall we do?" Miss Harding asked.
My most vivid impression of this charming young woman at that instant
was that her shoes gave forth a "chugging" sound as she walked,
convincing aural evidence that their spare spaces were occupied with
water. I also recall that her hat was a limp and bedraggled wreck from
being jammed for an hour or more against the roof of the culvert.
"I don't know," I frankly admitted. "It is certain we cannot take this
road to Pine Top. I have an idea that our back track is clear. I suggest
that I proceed to ascertain if this machine is dead beyond hope of
resurrection. If it isn't we'll take it back to civilisation. If it is
we'll abandon it and walk."
"It is now half past three o'clock," she said, looking at her watch.
"Even if we are late in getting to Oak Cliff we must go there if
possible, for I know papa will wait for us and be worried if we do not
come."
"I'll do the best I can," I said, hesitating a moment and vainly
attempting to think of some discreet way in which to express what was on
my mind.
"It will take some time," I finally said, "and in the meanwhile you had
better--you had better--"
"Oh, I'm going to," she laughed, and before I could look up she was on
her way to the sunny side of the embankment on the further approach of
the culvert. Ten minutes later I turned and saw her a few paces away
silently watching me, and the same glance revealed a pair of dainty
shoes on the top rail of the old bridge, and I presume that in some
place was a pair of stockings so disposed as to give Sol's rays a fair
chance to do their most effective work.
"I think I can fix it inside of an hour," I said.
"That will be splendid!" she exclaimed.
The sun was blistering hot and I worked like a Trojan, but again was it
my fate to disappoint her. The working parts were clogged with sand and
mud, and I had underestimated the magnitude of my task. I know now that
our best course would have been to abandon the machine and to walk to
Pine Top, but perhaps what happened was just as well.
It was 5:45 before the machine gave its first sure signs of returning
consciousness. Miss Harding gave a glad cry and a quarter of an hour
later when the red monster stood coughing in the muddy roadway those dry
shoes were where they belonged.
With light hearts we waved farewell to the kindly old culvert and set
our pace toward Woodvale. It was our plan to take the first crossroad
leading from the path of the tornado, and if possible make our way to
Oak Cliff. We passed a small hut which nestled in the shelter of the
rocks. In our mad rush I had not noticed it, but it seemed vacant.
A little farther on the road turns sharply to the right and re-enters
the forest. As we came to the top of a knoll I looked ahead and saw at a
glance that we were again nearing the path of the tornado. But I went on
until the trunks of the stricken trees brought us to a halt.
"We are trapped, Miss Harding," I said, after an examination which
proved that even foot travel was well-nigh impossible. "We are in the
segment of a circle closed at its ends by fallen trees, and the worst of
it is this: there remains to us positively no outlet to the road."
It was an exasperating situation. We decided to return to the hut in the
hope that its occupant--if it had one--might be able to show us a trail
through the woods to the west. As we came near the hut we saw smoke
coming from its stove-pipe chimney. It looked mighty cheerful.
I knocked on the door and a big, good-natured Norwegian opened it. He is
one of the watchmen employed by the Water Commissioners to keep
trespassers off the lands reserved for water supply.
I briefly explained our predicament. He informed me that there was no
wagon road leading to the east or the west, and said, with a wide grin,
that our auto could not possibly get out until the road was cleared.
Miss Harding joined us and made a despairing gesture when told the
situation.
This man Peterson said that the tornado had missed his hut by a few
hundred yards. He was in Pine Top when it swept through the edge of that
village, killing several persons.
"Where is the nearest railway station?" asked Miss Harding.
"Pine Top."
"How far is it?" I asked.
Peterson scratched his head and said that to go around the fallen timber
meant a journey of fully five miles.
"Will you guide us?" I asked. "I will pay you," I added, naming a
liberal sum.
Peterson said he would when he had cooked and eaten his supper. It was
then after seven o'clock, and the thought occurred to us that we were
hungry. Peterson agreed to do the best he could for us in the way of a
meal, and he did very well.
We were lamentably shy on dishes and knives and forks. We had bacon and
eggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter and some really excellent coffee.
There was only a single room in the hut, but it was clean and fairly
tidy. Peterson explained that he never had company, and apologised for
his lack of tableware.
Miss Harding was given the only regulation knife and fork, and I had the
pleasure of beholding her eating from my plate. There was only one
plate, Peterson using the frying pan and a carving knife.
What fun we had over that humble but wholesome meal! Miss Harding
praised our host's cooking, and his honest blue eyes glistened at the
compliment. Miss Harding and I sat on a board which rested on two nail
kegs, while Peterson, against his protest, had the one chair in the
house.
It was growing dark ere the meal was ended. I ran the touring car into
the little yard and sheltered it as best I could under the projecting
ledge of a rock. Peterson produced a big strip of heavy canvas which I
put to good service by protecting the vital parts of the mechanism.
Peterson assured us that the car would be safe, and with a parting look
at it we entered the forest.
It was a long, tortuous and in places dangerous journey. While we were
not in the track of the tornado, the storm had been severe over a wide
territory. Fallen trees lay across our rocky trail and at times we had
to make wide detours, forcing our way through thick underbrush and
scaling slippery rocks.
Miss Harding proved a good woodswoman.
"If I did not know that papa is worried I would enjoy every moment of
this," she declared, as we paused to rest after a climb of fully five
hundred feet out of the valley.
The lightning was again flickering in the west and we pressed on. There
were intervals of cleared spaces now and then. We climbed fences, jumped
ditches and seemingly walked scores of miles, but still the flickering
yellow light of that lantern led us remorselessly on. At last when it
appeared as if our quest were interminable we surmounted a rail fence
and found ourselves in a road.
"Pine Top half a mile," was the cheering announcement made by Peterson
as he held the lantern so that Miss Harding could examine the extent of
a rent just made in her gown.
Ten minutes later we stood on the platform of the little red station in
Pine Top, and the spasmodic clatter of a telegraph instrument was music
in our ears.
Down came the rain, but what cared we! The steel rails which gleamed and
glistened in the signal lights led to Woodvale. We entered the room and
waited patiently until the operator looked up from the jabbering
receiver.
"When is the next train to Woodvale?" was my ungrammatical query.
"I wish I could tell you," he answered, rather sullenly. He had been on
duty hours over time. "They've nearly cleared the track between here and
Woodvale, but the Lord only knows when a train can get through from Oak
Cliff."
"No train from Oak Cliff since the storm?" I asked.
"Well, I should guess not!" he gruffly laughed. "Oak Cliff's wiped off
the map."
Miss Harding clutched my arm. There was startled agony in her eyes, her
lips trembled but she bore the shock bravely.
"Did you get a message to that effect?" I demanded in a voice which
must have surprised him.
"No, the wires are down between here and Oak Cliff, but a man came by
here an hour ago who said it went through the village."
"Did it strike the Oak Cliff club house?" I asked.
"He didn't say," replied the operator, and then the instrument demanded
his attention.
"These reports are always exaggerated," I assured Miss Harding. "Besides
the club house is of stone, and it is protected by a hill to the west.
Do not be in the least alarmed."
"We can only hope and wait," she softly said.
We heartily thanked Peterson and watched him as he disappeared in the
darkness, tramping stolidly in the face of a driving rain.
Despite the rain it was warm and we sat on a bench under the broad roof
of the platform. I did my best to take her mind away from the dread
which possessed her, but it was a wretched hour for both of us. Then we
saw the flicker of lights down the track, and toward us came a small
army of labourers who had been clearing the roadbed between us and
Woodvale.
They stopped a minute in front of the station. These hardy Italians
stood in the drenching rain, axes in their hands or over their
shoulders, their clothes smeared with mud, water running in streams from
the rims of their broad hats; there they stood and laughed, chattered,
jested and indulged in rough play while their foreman received his
instructions from the telegraph operator. And then with a cheer and a
song they started on their way to Oak Cliff. Happiness and contentment
are gifts; they cannot be purchased.
Something to the south burned a widening circle in the mist and rain,
and from its centre we made out the headlight of a locomotive. It was a
passenger train, and as it crawled cautiously to the platform two men
leaped from it and came toward us.
I recognised Carter and Chilvers.
They had heard of the tornado and had constituted themselves a searching
party.
"Naturally your mother is alarmed," said Carter "but I assured her that
it was nothing more serious than delayed trains. She knows nothing of
the tornado."
We were informed that the up train would be held on a sidetrack until
the one from Oak Cliff got through. There was nothing to do but wait. It
was past midnight when we heard the blast of a whistle to the north, and
when the train from Oak Cliff pulled in Mr. Harding was the first one to
swing to the station platform.
"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed, releasing his daughter's arms from his
neck, holding her at arm's length and then kissing her again. "Is this
the way you call for me at four o'clock? Where's Smith? Hello, Smith!
Where's the red buzz wagon?"
"Over there," I said.
And then we all talked at once. Chilvers danced a clog-step to the
delight of the grinning trainmen, Carter removed his monocle and
polished it innumerable times, Miss Harding laughed and cried by turns,
Mr. Harding dug cigars from pockets which seemed inexhaustible, and gave
them to the railroad men, and I furiously smoked a pipe and put in a
word whenever I had a chance. It was an informal and glorious reunion.
The wires were working to Woodvale, communication having been made while
we stood there, and the conductor was honoured that he had the privilege
to hold the train while the famous Robert L. Harding sent a reassuring
telegram to his wife.
It was nearly two o'clock when we arrived in Woodvale. I asked Mr.
Harding how near the tornado came to the Oak Cliff club house.
"Smith," he said, laying his hand on my arm, "it passed so close that I
could have driven a golf ball into it, and I was tempted to try. That's
the best chance I'll have to get a long carry."
ENTRY NO. XX
FAT EWES AND SHARP KNIVES
At last I have the spare time in which to bring this diary up to date,
but where shall I begin?
One romance is ended. It was very pretty and interesting while it
lasted, but all things must have an end, especially flirtations.
Miss Olive Lawrence has left Woodvale. The season has only started, but
she confided to Miss Dangerfield that she was wearied with golf and
Woodvale. So with a smile to all, and having settled in full with
Wallace for a dozen or more lessons she left for the south with an
assortment of trunks which tested the capacity of the baggage car.
I feel rather sorry for Wallace, though I give him credit for enough
sense to have realised that her interest in him could amount to nothing
more than a desire to amuse herself. It does not speak well for
fascinating qualities for our Woodvale gallants that Miss Lawrence
selected this unknown outsider even as a target on which to practise
flirtation archery, but, in common with most men, it is beyond my ken to
fathom the caprices of a pretty woman.
[Illustration: "She left for the South"]
Wallace says nothing, but I can see that he takes it to heart. He spends
most of his spare time at Bishop's, but attends strictly to his
business. He is the best professional we have ever had, and it is
fortunate for the club that he did not gain the fair prize which many of
us thought was within his grasp.
I have won the "Harding Trophy!"
Carter and I played for it last Thursday. I had absolute confidence that
I should win, and when Miss Harding smilingly told me that she was
"pulling for me," I had no more doubt that I could win than I had that I
was alive. We had the largest gallery that ever has followed a match in
Woodvale. The betting was two to one against me.
I beat Carter four up and three to play, and made a medal score of
seventy-six, breaking the amateur record for the course. That statement
is quite sufficient to tell the story of the game.
I gave a dinner in honour of my victory, and at its conclusion Miss
Harding presented the "Bronze Gent," as Chilvers calls this beautiful
statuette. She made a graceful speech and we cheered her wildly. How
charming she looked as she stood beside the huge bulk of her proud
father! I tried to say something in reply, but the light in her eyes
seemed to hypnotise me, and after a few incoherent sentences Chilvers
came to my relief by striking up our club song, to the tune of a
familiar hymn:
"Oh, why can't I drive like other men do?
How on earth can you drive if you don't follow through?"
CHORUS
"Hallelulia; watch that shoulder
Hallelulia, my men;
Hallelulia; get your wrists in!
Must I tell you again?"
"Everybody come in strong on the second verse," ordered Chilvers, and we
obeyed as best we could, also on the third. They run like this:
"I can't understand; understand it at all,
Why I can't keep my eye on that little white ball."
CHORUS
"Hallelulia; keep a-looking;
Hallelulia, my men;
Hallelulia; keep a-watching!
Must I tell you again?"
"Oh, why can't I hole out on each green in two?
Because we all find that a hard thing to do."
CHORUS
"Hallelulia; grasp your putter
Hallelulia, again,
Hallelulia; hit it harder!
Never up, never in!"
It was a great occasion, but I have things to narrate which are of much
more import. The board of directors of the N.O. & G. railroad met on
Friday!
Mr. Harding and I went to the city together. He was very busy looking
over papers, and noticing his preoccupation I did not attempt to engage
in conversation with him.
I had plenty to think of. This was the day big with my future. This was
the day when the conspirators proposed to pass the dividend on the stock
of the N.O. & G. Would they dare to do it? What would result if they
did?
Knowing as I did that the earnings of the property had increased and
that its prospects never were more favourable, I could not believe it
possible that responsible officials would dare take so unwarranted a
step for the purpose of influencing stock quotations. But while I kept
my head and appeared outwardly calm, I was nervous, and I frankly
confess it.
I was weighing the situation in its various lights when Mr. Harding
spoke to me.
"Are you good at figures, Smith?" he asked.
"I can add, subtract, multiply and divide," I said with some confidence.
"Good!" he growled. "You've got nothing else to do, so you may as well
help me on multiplication and addition. Multiply these by those and add
'em up--right quick, won't you?"
He passed to me a piece of paper containing the following memorandum:
500................................68-1/2
1100................................67-3/4
4000................................67-1/2
300................................66-7/8
600................................66-1/2
1700................................65-1/2
200................................64
2300................................63-1/2
1000................................62-3/4
500................................61-1/4
3000................................60-1/2
1200................................59
300................................59-1/4
100................................58-7/8
400................................58-1/2
250................................59
1000....... ........................58-3/8
There were dates opposite the larger numerals, but these, of course, did
not enter into the computation.