“‘For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of man’s mind,
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderful and kind.’
Oh, ain’t he the clever boy?”
“We’ll see,” said Job unexpectedly, putting his feet to the floor.
“I ain’t a-goin’ to have the little fellar ashamed of his father,
see if I be!”
“All the same,” observed Captain Hap dryly, “I wouldn’t go on the
street to-night, if I was you. I’ll stay along of you a spell.
The minister’s beat out. There’s enough goin’ on yet to capsize a
soberer man than you be, Job. The fellar that did this here ain’t
a-goin’ to stop at rims of dippers. No, sir!... Job Slip! Don’t you
tech nothin’; not _nothin’_ outside of your own house, this six
month to come! Not a soda, Job! Not a tumbler o’ milk! Not a cup o’
coffee! Not a swaller o’ water! No, nor a bite of victuals. You’ll
be hunted down like a rat. There’s bread buttered with phosphorus
layin’ round loose for ye most anywheres. Everybody knows who done
this. ’T ain’t no use to spile good English callin’ bad names. He
won’t stop at nothin’ partikkelar to drawr you under.”
“But why?” asked Bayard. “Why should he hound down poor Job so?”
“To spite you, sir,” replied the captain without hesitation.
In the dead silence which followed the captain’s words, Joey’s
little voice piped up again:--
“Be hushed my dark spew--it
Ve wussvatcancome
But shortens vy zhour--_nee_
Anhastingsme home.”
Joey stole up merrily, and patted out the tune with his little
fingers on the minister’s pale cheek.
“He says,” began Mari proudly,
“‘Be hushed, my dark spirit,
_The worst that can come_’”--
But Captain Hap, who was not in a pious mood, interrupted the
maternal translation.
“Folks say that they’ve got into their ---- heads their license
is in genooine danger. Confine yourself to prayin’ an’ singin’,
an’ they don’t deny that’s what you’re hired for. Folks say if
you meddle with city politics, there ain’t an insurance company
in New England ’u’d take a policy on your life, sir. You might as
well hear what’s goin’ on, Mr. Bayard. I don’t suspicion it’ll
make no odds to you. I told ’em you wouldn’t tech the politics of
this here town with a forty-fathom grapplin’-iron,--no, nor with a
harbor-dredger!”
“You’re right there, Captain,” returned Bayard, smiling.
“Then ’tain’t true about the license?” asked the captain anxiously.
“I have nothing to conceal in the matter, Captain,” answered Bayard
after a moment’s silence. “There are legalized crimes in Angel
Alley which I shall fight till I die. But it will be slow work. I
don’t do it by lobbying. I have my own methods, and you must grant
me my own counsel.”
“The dawn that rises on the Trawls without their license,” slowly
said the captain, “that day, sir, you may as well call on the city
marshal for a body-guard. You’ll need it!”
“Oh, you and Job will answer, I fancy,” replied Bayard, laughing.
He went straight home and to bed, where he slept fitfully till
nearly noon of the next day. He was so exhausted with watching and
excitement, that there is a sense of relief in thinking that the
man was granted this one night’s rest before that which was to be
befell him.
For, at midnight of the succeeding night, he was awakened by the
clang of the city bells. It was a still night, there was little
wind, and the tide was calm at the ebb. The alarm was quite
distinct and easily counted. One? two? three? Six? One--two--three.
Six. Thirty-six. Thirty-six was the call from the business section
of the town. This alarm rang in for the board of trade, Angel
Alley, the wharves, and certain banks and important shops.
“A fire on the wharves, probably,” thought Bayard; he turned on his
pillow; “the fire-boat will reach it in three minutes. It is likely
to be some slight affair.”
One--two--three. Six. One--two--three. Six. _One-two. One-two._ The
sounding of the general alarm aroused him thoroughly. He got to
the window and flung open the blinds. In the heart of the city, two
miles away, a pillar of flame shot straight towards the sky, which
hung above it as red as the dashed blood of a mighty slaughter.
At this moment a man came running, and leaned on Mrs. Granite’s
fence, looking up through the dark.
“Mr. Bayard! Mr. Bayard!” he called loudly.
“Bob! Is that you? What is it? Where is it?”
“It’s in Angel Alley, sir.”
“Be there in a minute, Bob.”
“But, Mr. Bayard, sir--there’s them as think you’re safer where you
be. Job Slip says you stay to home if you love us, Mr. Bayard!”
“Wait for me, Bob,” commanded Bayard. “I’m half dressed now.”
“But, Mr. Bayard, Mr. Bayard--you ain’t got it through your head--I
said I wouldn’t be the man to tell you, and I wish to gollyswash
I’d stuck to it.”
“Bob! It isn’t the _Mission_?”
“Oh, sir--yes! They’ve set us afire!”
“Now, Bob,” said the minister, suddenly shooting up in the dark at
Bob’s side, with coat and vest over his arm, “run for it! Run!”
* * * * *
The building was doomed from the first. The department saw that, at
a glance, and concentrated its skill upon the effort to save the
block.
The deed had been dexterously done. The fire sprang from half a
dozen places, and had been burning inwardly, it was thought, for an
hour before it was discovered. The people had been too poor to hire
a night-watchman.
“We trusted Providence,” muttered Captain Hap. “And this is what we
get for it!”
The crowd parted before the minister when he came panting up, with
Bob a rod behind. Bayard had got into his coat on the way, but he
had not waited for his hat. In the glare, with his bared head and
gray-white face, he gathered an unearthly radiance.
He made out to get under the ropes, and sprang up the steps of the
burning building.
“No, sir!” said the chief respectfully; “you can’t get in, now.
We’ve saved all we could.”
“There are some things I _must_ have. I can get at them. I’ve done
this before. Let me in!” commanded the minister.
All the coherent thought he had at that moment was that he must
save some of the pictures--Helen’s pictures that she had given
to the people. In that shock of trouble they took on a delirious
preciousness to him.
“Let me into my own chapel!” he thundered. But the chief put his
hand upon the preacher’s breast, and held it there.
“Not another step, Mr. Bayard. The roof will fall in five minutes.
Get back, sir!”
He heard his people calling him; strong hands took hold of him;
pitying faces looked at him.
“Come, Mr. Bayard,” some one said gently. “Turn away with us. Don’t
see it go.”
He protested no more, but obeyed quietly. For the first time since
they had known him, he faltered, and broke before his people.
They led him away, like a wounded man. He covered his face when
the crash came. The sparks flew far and hot over the wharves, and
embers followed. The water hissed as it received them.
At the first gray of dawn, the minister was on the ground again.
Evidently he had not slept. There was a storm in the sky, and slow,
large flakes of snow were falling. The crowd had gone, and the
Alley was deserted. Only a solitary guardian of the ruins remained.
Bayard stood before them, and looked up. Now, a singular thing
had happened. The electric wire which fed the illuminated sign in
front of the mission had not been disconnected by the fire; it had
so marvelously and beautifully happened; only a few of the little
colored glass globes had been broken, and four white and scarlet
words, paling before the coming day, and blurring in the snow, but
burning steadily, answered the smothered tongues of fire and lips
of smoke which muttered from the ruins.
As day opened, the people began to collect upon the spot.
Expressions of awe or of superstition were heard, as they looked
up and read, serene and undisturbed against the background of the
rising storm,--