’LIJAH
Twilight, December twilight in a great city, cold gray and dismal. Up
town the dust collected in little ridges at the street corners, and
whirled alike into the faces of rich and poor, on their way home from
work. Down town the clerks in the big stores had gone out to their
suppers, leaving the boys to light up and rearrange the disheveled
counters for the final rush of evening customers. Around the markets
and in the toy-shops, however, there was little rest. Crowds of tired,
good-natured people staggered against each other and entangled
themselves in all sorts of projecting bundles which they carried under
their arms. Now and then a messenger or expressman would call out,
“Clear the way there!” in rich, jovial tones, while he bore his armful
of glistening, scarlet-dotted holly through the thickest of the crowd.
Even the night wind, which came scurrying down from the northwest
evidently bent on mischief, stopped a moment to rest among the boughs
of the mimic evergreen forest of fir and spruce along the sidewalks,
refreshed itself with their spicy fragrance, and stole away again,
gentler than before. And when, of all the year, should eyes be
brighter, hopes higher, voices merrier, even wind and winter air more
mild than on this blessed night?--for it was Christmas Eve.
“B-r-r-r-r,” shivered ’Lijah, trying to pull down the ragged ends of
his sleeves over his black wrist; “dis yere’s what I call right cold.
Gwine to snow ’fore mo’nin’, for sho.’”
Plunging a small shovel into the tin pail he was carrying, the old man
proceeded to scatter its contents, a sort of earthy gravel, along the
slippery rails of the horse-car track.
“Hullo, ’Lijah!” called a passing driver, with one hand on his brake
and the other holding a tight rein, “where you goin’ to-morrow?”
“Dunno; Merry Chris’mus!” returned the other, straightening his old
back and waving a salute with his shovel.
One after another greeted him in much the same way, receiving the
invariable “Merry Chris’mus,” given with a broad smile and a momentary
gleam of white from eyes and teeth.
The pail was empty, and ’Lijah was about to leave the scene of his
day’s work, when a strong, young voice called to him.
“Evening, ’Lijah. Wish you a Merry Christmas!”
“Thank ye, thank ye, mars’ George,” cried the negro, answering
involuntarily in the old plantation dialect, and turning delightedly
to the newcomer. “Wh-whar you been, Mars,’ an’ how’s Miss Rosy?”
“She’s well, ’Lijah,” said the young man, with a sparkle in his eye.
“I’ve been away from the city for a month. To-night I was going up
there, but”--
“But what, but what, Mars’ George?” queried the old man eagerly. “Ef a
po’ ole nig kin do anything fer ye, he’ll do it sho’. _Anything_,
Mars’!”
George Farley looked at him kindly. “I know you would, ’Lijah. And
yet, I hardly know--if I hadn’t been away so long”--
He was a generous young fellow, and he wanted to do right both by his
employers and his humble companion. The fact was, he had been charged
to remain in the store that night, the regular watchman being at home
sick. He had been looking forward during his long absence on the road
to that very Christmas Eve, which he was to spend with the owner of a
certain pair of merry brown eyes, at the other end of the city. The
temptation was too great. “It won’t come again for a year,” he argued
to himself; “it won’t ever be just the same as to-night. One hour or
two would do no harm, and ’Lijah is as faithful as a watch-dog--better
than I would be, if anything.”
The result was, as may easily be imagined, that ’Lijah agreed to take
up his post at the store at just half-past seven, and remain until
Farley came, which would be before ten.
The old man made his way home through the darkening streets with many
a delighted chuckle at his good luck. A chance to serve Mars’ George
didn’t come every day. “He’s a-gwine ter trus’ me!” he said to himself
over and over again.
The strong attachment between these two men, so far removed from each
other in social position, but closely knit together by that
brotherliness of humanity which reaches to a depth--or height--where
there is neither rich nor poor, bond nor free,--this powerful
attachment had begun at a summer hotel a year before. Farley had been
walking idly about the reading-rooms and office, when he heard a
cracked voice crooning softly to itself. Something in the tones
attracted him, and he was interested enough to listen for the words of
the song, for the tune told him nothing.
“Wash me an’ I shall be
Whiter dan snow.”
Stepping into the next room he found the singer to be an old negro,
employed about the place to black boots, scrub floors, and perform
whatever menial duties were considered below the dignity of his
fellow-servants. His hair was powdered with white, and his face
wrinkled like a prune, but there was a light in his eye which told
that he was mindful of the words he sang. Farley was touched by their
association with both his race and the tasks to which he was put, and
entered into conversation with him. He found that ’Lijah, for so he
was called, was receiving a mere pittance from the hotel, and even
that would cease in a few weeks. Interesting himself thoroughly in the
old man, he obtained for him a comfortable boarding-place in the city
and a situation which befitted his years and sluggish movements, and,
while affording but small pay, gave steady work from one year’s end to
another.
So ’Lijah plodded humbly up and down the tracks, scattering his
shovelfuls of sand, dodging passing vehicles as he best might, and
living at peace with all men. Oftentimes Mars’ George, to whom, as his
only tie in the world, he was as devoted as a Newfoundland dog, would
spend the long winter evenings with him in his little room; or would
even take him to a fairy play, whose fascinations affected him so
powerfully that for days afterward he would occasionally be seen to
stop at his work, gazing steadfastly at the pavements, from which,
perhaps, he momentarily expected to see emerge a gnome or gauze-winged
naiad.
Meanwhile he was full of interest in all that most nearly concerned
the happiness of his friend and patron. Accordingly it was not long
after Miss Rosy Burnham appeared on the scene, that old ’Lijah took
occasion to slyly allude to the personal charms of the young lady, and
to offer his services as a message-bearer, whenever occasion might
arise.
Once ’Lijah had the supreme delight of nursing Farley through a short
but severe illness. Then it was that his musical accomplishments,
which had at first attracted his benefactor, again came into play. His
repertoire, it is true, was scant, including only “Whiter than Snow,”
which he had heard at one of Mr. Moody’s revival meetings, and “Swing
Low, Sweet Chariot,” doubtless a relic of the old days when the slaves
sang at their work in the cotton fields, or among the huts at night.
Of tune he knew absolutely nothing, and the different airs which he
improvised for the words, according to the mood he was in, gave the
effect of a much greater variety than the two hymns would otherwise
have afforded.
To-night he was as happy as a child, and went to and fro about the
house humming, to a tune which seemed a combination of “Dixie” and
“Coronation”
“Swing low,--swing low--
Comin’ fer ter carry me ho-o-ome.”
All the way down to the store after supper he murmured by turns “Sweet
Chariot,” and “Mars’ George done trus’ me sho’ly!” People noticed his
lightsome looks, and some one must have given him a sprig of holly,
which he wore proudly, after all the berries had dropped off, in his
buttonhole.
Arriving at the store he found Farley waiting impatiently for him, and
was at once instructed in the duties of his two-hours’ watch. He was
to sit in the main office, which was in the third story and looked out
upon a large street. Every fifteen minutes he must take a lantern and
patrol the entire building above the first floor, which was occupied
by another firm, furniture dealers and manufacturers.
“Here, ’Lijah,” said Farley, hurriedly drawing a bunch of keys from
his pocket and thrusting them into the other’s hands; “take these.
That flat key will open the safe, and in it--look--is this box,
containing the most valuable papers in the store. If anything happens
be sure to look after them. Now good-bye, old fellow. Don’t go to
sleep, and look out for me inside of two hours.” And he was gone.
’Lijah listened to his retreating footsteps with intense satisfaction.
“Hi! Ain’t dis a Chris’mus Eve fer ole ’Lijah!” he said, softly,
taking a survey of his surroundings, and proceeding to settle himself
in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the room.
Pretty soon he looked at the clock. The hand indicated exactly
half-past seven.
“Reck’n I’ll begin dis yere business on time,” he soliloquized,
picking up the lantern Farley had left for him.
It would have been laughable, and pathetic at the same time, had any
one been there to see how anxiously he peered into every corner for
signs of danger; scrutinizing the door mats, gravely pausing before
tables and desks, giving a comprehensive glance now and then at the
ceiling, stepping on tiptoe, and, with eyes as round as saucers,
listening as he approached each door. This entire performance he
repeated regularly on the quarter-hours, as Farley had told him; his
features relaxing into his gleeful chuckle each time, as he found
himself in the cosy office, with all well behind him.
Meanwhile the hands of the clock upon the wall crept round in
leisurely fashion to nine, half-past, ten; and ’Lijah’s broad, white
smile expanded further and further as no Farley appeared.
“He’s done trus’ me lots dis yere night, sho’ly,” he repeated again.
“Guess you’s a tol’able good watchman, po’ ole ’Lijah, you is. Hi!
dat’s some o’ Miss Rosy’s work, sho’ ’nuff!”
He had finished his quarter-past-ten round, and had been sitting for
some time in his straight-backed chair, singing softly to himself, and
ruminating on Mars’ George’s manifold virtues and the fair face of his
lady, and was watching the clock for the signal of his next survey of
the premises, when he noticed a peculiar effect in the upper portion
of the room. The ceiling seemed to be going farther and farther away,
lifting higher and higher. Was he falling asleep then, after all, like
an unfaithful sentinel? He sat bolt upright, rubbed his smarting eyes,
and looked up again. The ceiling was almost out of sight. At the same
moment the old negro was seized with a violent fit of coughing. He
sprang to his feet, trembling in every limb. There was no longer any
mystery about it; the room was rapidly filling with smoke, which
poured in steadily through the transom over the office door.
’Lijah stood a moment and tried to think. Then he ran, lantern in
hand, into the entry and down the stairs, uttering incoherent cries of
“O Lor’! O Mars’ George! Look yere, look yere! O ’Lijah, you wuf’less
ole--O Lor’, O Lor’!” Scrambling, tumbling, sliding, he found his way
down through the stifling smoke, which boiled up in an ever
increasing volume from the basement. Reaching the street, ’Lijah ran
plump into a policeman, and, his teeth chattering with terror, tried
to tell him what was the matter.
But his haste was needless, for even while he spoke, deep voices were
repeating ’Lijah’s message in solemn, measured tones, above the roofs
all over the city; a low roar, growing louder each instant, arose far
down the street. Louder and louder, mingled with a jangling of gongs
and dismal blowing of horns, as the mighty foes of the fire gathered
to their work. Suddenly the crowd, which seemed to have sprung up out
of the ground, fled to right and left. A magnificent pair of black
horses dashed fiercely up before the store, leaving behind them a long
trail of floating sparks from the beautiful, glistening creature of
brass and steel at their backs. Then came one piece of apparatus after
another, engines, ladders and hose. In the confusion and uproar of
their arrival, the policeman had quite forgotten the trembling old
black man and his lantern. Now he looked around and saw him crowding
his way toward the store, from which tongues of flame began to dart
viciously.
“Come back there!” shouted the officer sternly, rushing upon ’Lijah
and jerking him backward so that he nearly fell. “Don’t you see the
stairway’s all on fire?”
“B-b-but Mars’ George done trus’”--
“I don’t know anything about that,” interrupted the policeman, pushing
back the crowd to right and left. “You can’t go in there again, and
that’s all there is about it.”
A determined look came into ’Lijah’s dark face. He stopped shaking and
watched his chance. It came soon, and with a movement wonderfully
quick for such an old man, he darted through the line and toward the
burning building.
“Stop him! Stop the nigger!” shouted half a dozen voices. “He’s
crazy!”
Two or three firemen sprang forward, but it was too late. An
involuntary and audible shudder went through the crowd as he plunged
into the black stairway, stooping to avoid the flames which curled
around the posts above his head.
In another minute some one cried out, “Look, look! there he is, way up
in the third story!”
How he had made his way through that terrible barrier, no one ever
knew. There he was, gesticulating wildly at the window, shouting to
the firemen, and presently holding up what appeared to be a small box.
With a warning cry to those below, he dropped it, watched it as it
fell and was borne safely out of danger by a uniformed officer,--and
sank back upon the window sill. Those in the opposite building
afterward said they could see then that he was terribly burned, but
seemed in all his pain to be laughing to himself. They thought, as did
the crowd below, that he was insane.
All this time the firemen were attacking the fire upon every side, but
with no visible effect. The varnish and oils stored by the furniture
dealers in various portions of their establishment made rallying
points for the flames, which almost at the very outset had found their
way through the central staircase, and so up and out of the roof.
Every front window in the two lower stories poured forth its volume of
fire and smoke, so that no ladders could be successfully planted. Nor
could entrance be effected through the skylight, the enemy having, as
I have described, taken possession of that important point. Meanwhile
old ’Lijah seemed quite content to sit just inside his window and wait
for what was coming fast. His grizzled head drooped gradually, and
those nearest could see his lips moving. If they had been very near
indeed, they would have heard him talking and singing to himself:
“‘Swing low, sweet chari-o-t,
Comin’ fer to carry me home!’
I’se done it, Mars’ George, jes’ ’s you tole me. You done trus’
’Lijah, an’ he warn’t a-gwine to give up.
‘Whiter dan sno-o-ow! Swing low!’”
Yes, old ’Lijah, your chariot is swinging low for you, very low.
“Comin’ fer to carry me”--
The thick smoke rolls out heavily through the window overhead. The
firemen keep a steady stream playing through the broken panes, and
fight fiercely with their axes to reach him. It grows so hot that the
people in the opposite windows hold their hands before their faces,
while they watch.
Still nearer swings the great roaring chariot of fire. Lower and lower
droops the faithful head upon the black, scorched hands.
His lips were still moving faintly, and he was still whispering,
“Swing low, swing low, swing low,” when CRASH! came a burly figure,
his face blackened with smoke and his rubber coat dripping with water,
straight in through the window. Without a word he seized ’Lijah firmly
around the waist and raised himself upright on the window-sill; then
looking upward he shouted, hoarsely, “Haul away!”
The crowd held their breath as the two figures swung out into the air
at that fearful height, and spun round once or twice before they were
drawn up--up--inch by inch, and landed safe and sound on the roof.
Then up went such a shout as has rarely been heard in this good city;
a great, beautiful, manly cry of triumph and joy, such as the angels
might utter over him who was lost.
It was a long time before ’Lijah could realize that he had not been
borne away in his chariot, that had swung so low. I believe he felt a
pang of disappointment when he first looked at his wrinkled, scarred
hands, and found they were not “whiter than snow.” But Rosy, dear,
repentant little Rosy, soon found ways to comfort him; for she would
not hear of his staying in the hospital, because she knew it was all
her fault, she said, keeping George so long. So ’Lijah is quite as
content to stay on the earth a little while longer as he was to go.
For does not Mars’ George come every evening and sit by him, and tell
him they must live together always? and doesn’t ’Lijah know, too, that
the crowning glory of his life is to be on next Christmas Eve, just a
year from the great fire, when Miss Rosy will be Miss Rosy no longer,
and he is to enter upon permanent duties in her new home?