THE BROKEN TRESTLE
Never had a day dawned more brightly, never had the skies been bluer
than on the morning of a day a week or so later, to which the Scouts
had looked forward with so much pleasure; and yet it proved to be a
day of disaster.
The unfortunate happenings had begun with an accident to Mr. Durland.
He had stepped carelessly upon a loose stone, and, his foot slipping,
he had been thrown from his balance, and had rolled and slid down
the steep mountain side. He had grasped at some stout bushes and so
managed to stay his fall until help could reach him. His Troop had
all been thankful enough when at last they had him at the top again
and had found no bones were broken, and that there was apparently no
more serious injury done than some severe bruises.
Thankful as they were, the accident had affected them all, for there
was not a boy in that Adirondack camp who did not love Mr. Durland.
He had been their Scout-Master ever since the formation of the
Thirty-ninth Troop, and in all that time they had spent together
the Scouts had found nothing in him that the most critical would
have cared to change if he could. His never-failing cheerfulness,
his quick sympathy and full understanding of boy nature, his
hearty praise for work well done or any act that proved the doer a
worthy Scout; the quiet reproof, when reproof could no longer be
withheld--all these traits had endeared their Scout-Master to the
members of the Thirty-ninth.
So it had been with thankful hearts but subdued spirits that they had
again taken up the trail.
Then venturesome Tom Binns had foolishly wandered away, and it had
taken an hour of searching before they had located him.
They had gone on quietly without any other unpleasant incident
and had covered several miles of their hike where there had come
literally “lightning out of a clear sky.”
One moment the sky had been of clearest blue, the sun shining
brightly. The next the air had been filled with a lurid yellow light.
It had thundered and lightened and, by sheer good fortune, just in
the nick of time, the boys had stumbled upon a refuge formed by three
great rocks piled one against the other. Against and between these
they managed to crowd, but it had offered only meagre protection
from the fury of the storm. Such a storm had never been witnessed
before by any of them. It was preceded by a terrific wind which bent
the saplings to the ground, wrenched up great trees by their roots,
casting them aside like a giant’s discarded playthings. This it had
made the boys’ hearts ache to see, for they had come to love the
trees, and regard them almost as friends.
Then came the rain, in driving sheets that hid even nearby objects.
It seemed as if the very floodgates of heaven were opened, and that
it poured in “floods that came and came again,” until in every
depression there was a small lake and wherever the ground sloped
downward small rivers ran.
Not a living thing was to be seen, for every wild creature had taken
refuge from the fury of the storm in its deepest woodland shelter
and nestled there quivering, while still the thunder rolled, the
lightning flashed and the rain came down in torrents.
Suddenly there was a peculiarly vivid flash, and then a crash that
seemed as if the heavens themselves must be falling, and a tall
oak directly opposite the Scouts’ shelter was riven by lightning.
Straight through the center of the tree the blue fire ran, from
topmost leaf to roots, and the giant parted and fell crashing to the
ground.
At last, after what seemed a never-ending wait, the deluge was over,
and the Scouts came out of their refuge, stretching their limbs, and
again took up the trail.
At first their progress was slow, for in every hollow the water lay
so deep that they were forced to abandon the trail and skirt around
it. In more than one place a great tree lay across the trail and they
must either go around or push through the fallen branches. All this
took time and effort, and the boys were tired when they reached a
part of the trail that led outside the woods, where they found the
going much easier.
Then they reached the river, along whose banks the trail led to
within a mile of the county town, for to purchase some much needed
stores in the village had been the object of this hike.
Long before they reached the river they could hear its rushing waters
and so were prepared to see it swollen, but the sight which now met
their eyes was beyond anything they had imagined.
The raging volume of water that came tearing down the river course
was more like some great, swirling cataract than a river. They
remembered how it had looked on the day they came to camp as,
crossing on the trestle which spanned it, they had looked down upon
it from the train, and admired its quiet beauty. Then the blue sky
was mirrored in its quiet depths, now a great mass of whirling, muddy
water, sweeping all before it.
Recovering a little from their amazement at the sight of the rushing
current, they went on down the trail until the trestle came in sight.
At the first glance they stood as if turned to stone. For several
minutes the Scouts gazed into the faces of one another, and, though
no word was spoken, whole volumes were read in eyes full of alarm and
faces which, despite the stout hearts back of them, were blanched
with fear.
It had needed only one glance to see it all. On its course down the
valley, the swollen river, overflowing its banks at many places,
had loosened the earth from the roots of many trees growing along
its edge and had borne them along. Several of these had been wedged
against the foundation supports of the trestle and on the farther
side had loosened several of them. This had caused the frame to sag
away from the track, leaving the rails loosened and out of place for
many feet at that end of the trestle, and--appalling thought! the
afternoon express was due in little more than an hour. Is it any
wonder that the thought left the Scouts white and speechless?
In order to give the alarm to the on-coming train it would be
necessary to cross the river. Ordinarily this would be easy enough,
for here the river had neither great depth nor strong current, but
one glance now at the raging, boiling torrent that had taken the
place of the usually placid river showed that to be dangerous, if not
impossible.
As the Troop stood there hesitating, trying to decide on the best
thing to do, there was constantly before each one a picture of
the train speeding out on that broken trestle, then falling, its
cars piling up one upon the other, the shrieks and groans of the
injured--Ah, but they must not think of these things! It would make
them unable to plan. That they must do something to save the train
went without saying. No true Scout could stand or had ever stood by
when there was disaster to be prevented or life to be saved.
“Now, Scouts,” said Mr. Durland in a resolute voice, “here is an
emergency that will test all your training. We must act quickly, or
it will be too late.”
As he spoke a new thought flashed into his mind and now, looking into
the earnest faces of the Scouts, he saw the thought that was in his
own mind grow in theirs.
The trestle! But to run along that trestle over the mass of seething,
angry water, when the slightest misstep meant death, to warn the
on-coming train--could he ask or expect such a heroic deed from these
Scouts, the oldest of whom was scarcely more than a boy? He must
consider.
The wind that had risen to a hurricane before the storm had broken
now began to rise again, and he knew that this would increase the
peril fourfold. What was his duty to these boys? Should he teach them
at this crisis that their first duty was to themselves, or that it
was their great privilege to risk their own lives to save others?
His decision was made, and, raising his head, he quickly called for a
volunteer.
Every Scout, to the last man, stood ready!
Strong man as he was, Mr. Durland felt the tears rush to his eyes,
and he could not speak for a moment for the choking in his throat.
Then he said, “Well, Scouts, I’m proud of every one of you, but you
see you cannot _all_ go.” Then glancing keenly about, he continued:
“I will let you choose your own man. Whom do you think best fitted,
not by courage, for you are _all_ that, but by physical strength and
steadiness of head to undertake this task?”
And there was but one word spoken, as with but one voice, “Jack!”