IN STORM AND DARKNESS
"Yes, it's the last message he'll ever deliver," repeated the policeman;
"Ben Mayberry has probably been killed!"
These were the terrible words spoken by the man who had rung my bell in
the middle of the night, and startled me almost out of my senses. I
swallowed the lump in my throat, and with a voice tremulous with emotion,
said:
"No, no! it cannot be. Who would kill him?"
"I don't mean he was murdered," the officer hastened to add, seeing my
mistake. "He was on the middle span of the bridge when it was carried
away by the flood, and that's the last of him!"
I drew a great sigh of relief. There was something unspeakably dreadful
in the thought of noble Ben Mayberry being killed by anyone, and it
lifted a vast burden from my shoulders to be told that no such awful fate
had overtaken him.
But instantly came the staggering terror that the boy had gone down in
the wreck and ruin, and at that moment was floating among the great
masses of ice and debris that were sweeping swiftly down the river
toward the sea.
"How was it?" I asked, after the officer had refused my invitation to
enter.
"The river began rising very fast at dark, but the bridge has stood so
many freshets we were hopeful of this. The water was at the top of the
abutments at nine o'clock and was still creeping up. Jack Sprall, who is
off duty to-night, was down by the bridge watching things. A little after
ten o'clock, Ben Mayberry came along and said he had a message which he
had promised to deliver to a gentleman at the hotel in Moorestown. Jack
told him the bridge was unsafe, but Ben said he knew how to swim, and
started across, whistling and jolly as usual. Jack said at the same time
he heard the sound of wheels, which showed that a wagon or carriage had
driven on from the other side, which never ought to have been allowed
when things were looking so shaky. Ben had just about time to reach the
middle of the bridge when the crash came, and the big span was wiped out,
as though it was a chalk mark on a blackboard."
"How do you know of a surety that Ben Mayberry did not save himself?"
"He is very active and strong, I know, which made Jack hope he had pulled
through. In spite of the danger of the rest of the bridge going, Jack
crept out over it to the abutment, and shouted to Ben.
"It seemed that a couple of men had done the same from Moorestown, and
they stood on the other abutment, with the middle of the river sweeping
between and threatening to take away the rest of the tottering bridge
every minute.
"When Jack called, they answered, though it was too dark to see each
other, and they asked Jack whom he was looking for. He told them that Ben
Mayberry had gone on the bridge a few minutes before from this side, and
he was afraid he had been swept away. They said there could be no doubt
of it, as he had not reached the span on which they were standing. They
then asked Jack whether he had seen anything of a horse and carriage,
which drove on the bridge from the Moorestown side, and which they had
come out to see about. Of course Jack could only make the same answer,
and when they explained, it was learned that the carriage contained a
lady and small child--so three lives have been lost from people not doing
their duty in keeping folks out of danger."
"Does the mother of Ben know anything about this?" I asked, with a
shudder at the thought of her terrible grief.
"Yes; I went up to her house and told her first, as I thought it my duty
to do."
"Poor woman! she must have been overcome."
"She was at first, and then when she asked me to tell her all about it,
and I had done so, she said very quietly that she didn't believe her boy
was drowned."
"Nor do I believe it!" I exclaimed, with a sudden thrill of hope. "Ben
Mayberry is one of the best swimmers I ever saw; he went down with the
lumber of the central span, and even if he could not swim, he had a good
chance to float himself on some of the timbers or blocks of ice which are
buoyant enough to support a dozen men."
"All that is very true," replied the policeman, who seemed to have
thought of everything; "and I don't deny that there is just the barest
possibility in the world that you're right. But you mustn't forget that
the roof of the bridge was over him, and has shut out the chance of his
helping himself. Don't you believe that, if he was alive, he would have
answered the calls that Jack made to him? Jack has a voice like a
fog-horn, and Ben would have heard him if he was able to hear anything."
This view of the case staggered me, and I hardly knew what to say, except
to suggest that possibly Ben had answered the call, and was unheard in
the rushing waters; but the officer shook his head, and I confess I
shared his doubts.
"Just as the splintering timbers went down, Jack did hear the shout of
Ben; he heard, too, the scream of a woman, and that awful cry which a
horse sometimes makes when in the very extremity of peril, but that was
all."
I could not sleep after such horrifying tidings, when the policeman had
gone; I went into the house and donned my overshoes and rubber coat.
Fortunately my family had not been awakened by the ringing of the bell,
and I did not disturb them; but, carefully closing and locking the door
after me, I went out in the storm and darkness, oppressed by a grief
which I had not known for years, for Ben Mayberry was as dear to me as my
own son, and my heart bled for the stricken mother who, when she most
needed a staff to lean upon during her declining years, found it cruelly
snatched from her.