AN APPALLING VISITOR.
One bright September day, after David Wilde had been gone about a
week with his raft, a wood-cutter came to the cabin with bad news. He
informed Alice that the woods were on fire two or three miles back,
and that the wind was driving the fire in a broad belt of a mile wide
directly toward the house; that if the wind did not subside with the
setting of the sun, nothing could preserve the place from destruction
by the middle of the next day. Alice had been sitting at the window,
thinking how delicious that soft, dry wind was, but now she prayed
with all her heart that it might speedily die. It was yet many hours
to sunset; and she, with Pallas, went into the forest until they
could see the fire, and were in some danger from the drifting sparks.
The foresters shook their heads and told her to be prepared for the
worst; Pallas groaned and prayed as if she had been at a camp-meeting;
but Alice, although she trembled before the mighty power of the
conflagration, endeavored not to lose her presence of mind.
"I shall hope for the best," she said to the men, "but shall be
prepared for the worst. Go to the mill and bring round by the river all
the skiffs you can muster--there are two or three, are there not? They
will be ready by evening, and if the wind does not change, or go down,
by that time, we will try and save the furniture by means of the boats.
Come, Pallas, let us go home and pack up the smaller things."
"Home!" The word sounded sweet, when destruction hovered so near; but
Alice had a brave heart; she would think of nothing now but of being
equal to the emergency; her calmness had a salutary effect upon the
characteristic excitability of her sable attendant, who followed her
back in quite a composed and serviceable mood.
Moving quietly about, putting her precious books into packages, and
getting into movable shape all those little articles of household use
which become so dear from association, a looker-on would hardly have
guessed how anxiously the young girl waited for sunset--how earnestly
she wished that her father had been at home.
"My! my! dat nigger of mine is a wusser fool 'an ever," said Pallas, as
she bustled about like an embodied storm; "jes' see him, Miss Alice;
he's went and put on his bes' clo'es, and dar' he stands, nebber doin'
a single ting, but jes' holding dem new boots of his."
"What are you dressed up for, Saturn," called Alice, laughing, in spite
of her anxiety, to find that he had made provision for that which
was dearest to him--his new suit would be saved if he was, and if he
perished, it would share his fate.
"Oh, missus," he replied, looking foolish, "it's the easiest way to
carry 'em."
"Better put your boots on, also; then you'll have your hands to work
with," suggested Alice.
"Jes' so, missus; I never tought of dat;" and on went the boots, after
which Saturn was ready to get as much in the way as possible.
At sunset, the boats, consisting of two little skiffs which would hold
but small freightage, and one larger boat which would accomodate the
heavier pieces of furniture, were moored under the stately old elm
which had so long stood sentinel over that forest home. Three or four
men, among whom was Ben Perkins, held themselves in readiness to give
the necessary assistance.
The sun went down in a clear sky; there were no clouds to threaten
a wished-for rain; but that cold, firm wind which sometimes blows
unceasingly three days at a time, in the autumn months, rose higher and
higher. There was no moon, and as twilight deepened into night, the
thick smoke which hung above the earth rendered the darkness intense;
and occasionally when heavy volumes of smoke dropped lower toward the
earth, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Pallas prepared supper for all, with a strong cup of coffee to keep
off drowsiness; and no one retired to bed that night. Shortly after
midnight the fire traveled within sight; the roar of the conflagration
swelled and deepened until it was like the dashing of a thousand
seas; the hot breath of the flames aroused the wind, until it rushed
in fury directly toward the cabin. Light flashes of flame would run
from tree-top to tree-top, while farther back was a solid cone of
fire--trunks from which all the foliage and lesser branches had fallen,
stretching their glowing arms across the darkness, towering up against
the starless background. Frequently these fiery columns would crumble,
with crashes scarcely heard through the continuous roar, sending up a
fitful shower of sparks to be whirled on high by the rushing currents
of air.
Fascinated by the beautiful, appalling scene, Alice sat on the bank
of the river, wrapped in a shawl, from which her pale, excited face
shone like a star, kindling the enthusiasm of the rude men about her
to do something in her service. As for Ben, he scarcely looked at the
fire--his eyes were upon the girl.
"It's no use," he said to her, about two o'clock in the morning,
"waitin' any longer. That fire will be on this very spot by break of
day. The wind's a blowin' a perfect gale. Ain't you cold, Miss Alice?"
"No, no--not at all. If you think it the only way, then let us begin.
My father's desk, with his papers, stands in his bedroom. See to that
first, Ben, and then the other things."
It did not take long for the active fellows engaged to clear the cabin
of all its contents; every thing was put into the boats--and then, as
Ben said, "it was high time to clear out."
The smoke was suffocating, and sparks and small branches of burning
trees were beginning to fall around. Saturn and Pallas were safely
stowed in the largest boat, while Alice paddled out into the stream
in her own tiny canoe. The track of the fire was a mile in width; but
the mill was not threatened by it, nor much troubled by the smoke, the
wind carrying it in another direction. The house then occupied by the
mill-hands must be the present shelter of the captain's family.
Down the river, in the full glare of the conflagration, floated the
little convoy. The smoke was not so dense about them now; it hung high
above, and rolled in dark billows far beyond. The stream was crimson
with the reflection, and the faces of the party looked pallid in the
lurid glare--always excepting those two sable faces, turned, with awe
and dread, toward that sublime picture of devastation.
Suddenly Alice, who was in advance, dropped back.
"I must return to the house," she cried, as she came along side of the
boat containing Ben and the old servants.
"No, you mus'n't," shouted Ben; "it's too late. It's getting mighty
warm here now; and them flyin' branches 'll hit ye."
"I can't help it," replied Alice, firmly. "There's something in the
garret I must have. Father would never forgive us for forgetting that
trunk, Pallas."
"Law, suz! dat trunk! sure enough," groaned Pallas.
"I must get it," said the young girl.
"How can you, chile? it's locked, so yer can't get out the things, and
of course _you_ couldn't carry it down. Come back! oh, come back, dear
chile, won't yer? What's forty trunks to yer own precious life, chile?
and them sparks 'll set your dress on fire, and the heat 'll smother
yer all up."
"I've got a hatchet, and I'll break it open," shouted Alice, now fast
rowing back toward the cabin.
"That girl's right down crazy," said Ben Perkins; "here Saturn, take
these oars, and make 'em fly. I'm goin' after her."
He threw off his jacket and boots, plunged into the stream, swam
ashore, and ran along the bank, keeping pace with the skiff. Both
reached the house at the same instant, they were gone perhaps three
minutes, and came forth again, Ben carrying the trunk upon his
shoulder. One instant they paused to look upon the wall of fire behind
them; but the heat was intolerable.
"These falling bits will sartainly set your clothing a-blaze," said
Ben, hurrying the young girl away, who would fain have lingered yet
around the home which had grown dear to her with her growth--already
the garden was withering, and the vines she had planted were drooping
before their impending ruin.
"My dress is woolen," she said; "but I will go. Oh, Ben, this is
terrible, is it not?"
"Yes, Miss Alice, but if ye get away safe now, you may thank yer
stars. I don't believe the canoe 'll hold you and the trunk both," he
remarked, as he deposited his precious (to Alice) burden in the bottom
of it.
"Yes it will--but you, Ben?"
"Oh, I ain't of as much consequence as a trunk," he replied, bitterly.
"Take car' of yourself--don't mind me."
"I shan't stir from this spot until you come with me, Ben. So get into
the boat, quick."
"Get in yourself, Miss Alice, and make good time. You'll be baked like
a brick, if yer don't get out of this soon. I'm going to swim 'long
side. What's a mile or two, swimmin' down stream?" He threw himself in
the water, and struck out, as he spoke.
She kept beside of him, refusing to go faster than he, that she might
give him aid, in case he became exhausted; the river at this spot was
over a mile in width, and it would have been difficult for him, tired
and heated as he already was, to make the opposite shore.
As they made their way along in this manner, the wind swept the hot
breath of the fire around them in suffocating waves. The cold surface
of the river kept the air comparatively pure for two or three feet
above it, or they would have smothered; but as it was, Alice gasped for
breath convulsively at times.
"Alice! Alice! you are sufferin'--you can't stand it," cried her
companion in a voice which betrayed the agony of his soul--it thrilled
through her, it was so sharp with pain.
"Don't be uneasy, Ben, we're nearly clear of the fire, now;" but
struggle as bravely as she might, she could endure the heat no longer,
and she, too, leaped into the river, and sheltering herself beneath the
shadow of the skiff, swam boldly on, holding a small rope in her hand
which secured it from floating off.
As soon as the advance party had got out of the smoke and heat, they
waited the return of the two, who made their appearance in an alarming
condition, Alice having become exhausted in the water, and Ben having
her in one arm, and swimming with the other, while he towed the skiff
by a rope held between his teeth.
Alice fainted away when she found herself safe in Pallas' motherly
arms; and Ben might have followed her example had not one of his
comrades been ready with a flask of spirits. It was thought best to
administer the same restorative to the young girl, who soon revived,
murmuring: "Father will be so glad the trunk is safe, Pallas."
As the morning broke, the party reached the shelter of the mill. It was
two or three days before Alice was well enough to visit the ruins of
her beloved home; and then she could only row along the river and gaze
upon the blackened and smoking mass, for the earth was still too hot to
be ventured upon. The cabin smoldered in a heap; the top of the great
elm was blackened and the foliage gone, but it had not fallen, and the
grass was crisped and withered to the edge of the river.
The tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed; but with the
hopefulness of youth, she passed on, seeking a new spot to consecrate
as a second home. It was vain to think of rebuilding in the same
vicinity, as all its beauty was destroyed, and it would take some years
for it to renew itself. She knew that her father did not wish to live
too near to his mill, as he had always kept his home aloof from it;
that he would be satisfied with such a spot as she liked; and she was
ambitious to begin the work, for she knew the winter would be upon them
before they could complete a new house, if plans were not early made.
There was a lovely spot just beyond the ravages of the fire, where the
river made a crescent which held in its hollow a grove of beech and elm
and a sloping lawn, standing in advance of the dark pines stretching
back into the interior. As her father owned the land for some distance
along the shore she was at liberty to make her choice, and she made it
here.
Ben Perkins, when necessity demanded, was the carpenter of the place.
He had a full set of tools, and there were others of the men capable
of helping him. There was timber, plenty of it, already sawed, for
the frame of the new house, and while a portion went to work upon
it, boards were sawed for the siding, and shingles turned out of the
shingle-machine. As the "hands" said, Alice made an excellent captain.
A little sleeping-apartment had been constructed for her off the main
cabin, at the mill, and her own bed put up in it; but she did not like
the publicity of the table and the place, and longed for the new home
to be completed.
The emotions of David Wilde were not enviable when, upon his return,
he came in sight of the blackened ruins of his home. He did not so much
heed the vast destruction of valuable timber, as he did the waste of
that snug little, vine-covered cabin, with the garden, the flowers, and
the associations clustering about all. The first question he asked when
he clasped his child to his heart, and found _her_ safe, was of old
Pallas: "That trunk in the garret--was it saved?"
"Pickaninny saved dat ar' trunk, masser. She tought you had suthin'
important in it, and she _would_ go back;" and Alice felt repaid for
all the risk she had run, when she saw the look of relief upon her
father's face.
Ben Perkins had planned the new house, the frame of which was ready to
be raised the day after the captain's return. Whether he had cunningly
calculated that the family would some time be increased, or not,
certain it is that he made liberal allowance for such a contingency. He
had much natural talent as an architect, and from some printed plans
which had fallen into his possession, he contrived a very pretty rustic
cottage, with sharp-pointed gables something in the Gothic style, and a
porch in front. Alice was charmed with it.
"We'll get the house in livin' order in a month or two; but yer can't
have all the fixin's over the windows and the porch afore spring; I'll
have to make 'em all by hand, through the winter, when thar' ain't much
else a-doin'."
Ben was ambitious to conciliate Alice, and to make her feel how useful
he could be to her and her father. Love prompted his head and hands to
accomplish wonders. Poor Ben! work as he might, gain her expressions
of gratitude and admiration as he might, that was the most. There was
always a reserve about her which held his fiery feelings in check. His
was not a nature, either to check and control its own strong passions,
or to give up an object upon which they were once set.
A settled gloom came over his olive face, and his eyes burned like
smoldering fires beneath their black brows. He no longer had pleasant
remarks to make; no longer brought daily gifts of fish, birds, berries,
squirrels, venison, or grapes to Alice; no longer tried to break down
her reserve--he just worked--worked constantly, perseveringly, moodily.
Alice herself was scarcely more gay. He guessed whose image filled
her mind, when she sat so long without moving, looking off at the
frost-tinted forests; and the thought was bitterness.
It was necessary for Captain Wilde to go again to some settlement down
the river, to get hinges, locks, window-sashes, glass, etc., for the
new house, which was to be ready for those finishing touches, by the
time of his return. He did not know, when he set out, whether he would
go as far as Center City, or stop at some smaller point nearer home.
One day, about the time of his expected return, Ben had gone for Alice,
to get her opinion about some part of the house. They stood together,
on the outside, consulting about it, so interested in the detail that
they neither of them noticed the boat upon the river, until it was
moored to the bank, and the voice of the raftsman was heard calling to
them.
Both turned at the same moment and saw that Philip Moore was in company
with Mr. Wilde. Ben's eyes fixed themselves instantly upon Alice's
face, which was first pale and then red. He saw the great throb her
heart gave, heard the sudden catch in her breath; and he was still
looking at her when Philip sprang gayly up the path and seized her
hand--the man who loved her better than life saw all the blushes of
womanhood coming and going upon her face at the touch of another's hand.
A threatening blackness clouded his brow; Alice saw it, and knew
that he read her secret by the light of his own passion; she almost
shuddered at the dark look which he flashed upon Philip; but her father
was calling for assistance to unload his craft, and Ben went forward
without speaking.
"What a surly fellow that is, for one so good-looking and young,"
remarked Philip, carelessly, looking after him.
"He is not always so surly," Alice felt constrained to say in his
defense: "he's vexed now about something."
"But that's an ill-tempered look for a youthful face, Alice. I'm afraid
he'd hardly make a woman very happy--eh, Alice?"
"That's a matter which does not interest me, Mr. Moore, I assure you,"
answered the young girl, with an unexpected flash of pride.