"A BRAND FROM THE BURNING."
There is a cry of alarm in the street below. The fire has broken through
the roof, and so revealed itself to some late passer-by.
"Fire! fire! fire!"
Soon the space before the doomed building is swarming with people
running, vociferating, cursing, jesting. Drunken men are there, haggard
women, dirty, ragged children, who clap their hands and shout excitedly
at this splendid spectacle.
[Illustration: "The flames rise and spread; the door of the closet has
fallen in, and now he feels their hot breath."--page 234.]
It is useless to attempt to save the old tenement; they realize that.
But its occupants--They have heard the alarm, and they come out
hurriedly, _en deshabille_, pushing and dragging the children,
screaming, and cursing each other and the world.
All on the lower floor are then safe. But the upper floor, and its
occupants?
"Fire! fire! fire!"
No signs of life above stairs. No terrified faces at the windows. No
flying forms down the rickety stairway. No cries for help from among the
fast-spreading flames.
"Fire! fire! fire!"
They hear the tinkle of bells, the gallop of speeding hoofs upon the
pavement.
"Ah!" cries an on-looker, "the fire boys are coming!"
"Too late, they are," growls another; "too late, as usual."
The engine approaches; and from the opposite direction comes a man,
running swiftly, panting heavily, almost breathless.
The roof is all ablaze now; in a moment the rafters will have fallen in.
The panting new-comer stops suddenly before the door of the burning
tenement, and glances sharply about. Near him is a half-dazed woman who
has rushed to the rescue, as frightened women will, with a pail of water
in her unsteady hand. The man leaps toward her, seizes the pail, dashes
its contents over his head and shoulders, and plunging through the
doorway, disappears up the stairs.
"Stop! Come back!"
"What a fool!"
"That's the end of _him_!"
The on-lookers shout and scream. Exclamations, remonstrance, pity,
ridicule--all find voice, and are all lost upon the daring adventurer
among the flames.
The engine rushes up; the firemen spring to their work: useless effort.
Nobody thinks of them, or what they do; all eyes are on the blazing
upper story, all thoughts for the man who is braving the flames.
A crash from aloft; a cry from the multitude. The roof is falling in,
and the gallant rescuer--ah! he is doomed.
But no; a form comes reeling out from among the smoke and fire tongues,
comes staggering and swaying beneath a burden which is almost too much
for his strength.
Then a triumphant yell rises from the multitude. They seize upon rescued
and rescuer, and bear them away from the heat and danger. How they
scream and crowd; how they elbow and curse; how they exclaim, as they
bend over these two refugees from a fiery death!
The rescuer has sunk upon the ground, half suffocated and almost
insensible; but all eyes are fixed upon the rescued, for he is bound,
gagged and blindfolded!
What is he? Who is he? Why is he thus? They are filled with curiosity;
here is a mystery to solve. For the moment the gallant rescuer is
forgotten, or only remembered as they seek to avoid trampling upon him
in their eagerness to obtain a view of the greater curiosity.
They tear off the fetters of the late prisoner. They wrest the bandage
from his eyes. They remove the gag from his mouth. Then curiosity
receives a fresh stimulus; exclamations break out anew.
"It's a nigger!"
"No; look here!"
"Hello, he's been playin' moke!"
"He's been blacked!"
"Look at his clothes, boys."
"Jerusalem! he's been robbed."
Then they begin their efforts to bring him to his senses; partly for
humanity's sake, quite as much that they may gratify their curiosity.
"He's dead, I reckon."
"No; only smothered."
"Stand back there; give us air."
"Let's have some water."
"No, brandy."
"Look; he's coming to."
He is "coming to". He shudders convulsively, gropes about with his hands
and feebly raises his head. Then respiration becomes freer; he draws in
a deep breath, sits up and looks about him. He is bewildered at first;
then memory reasserts herself. He sees the now almost-demolished
tenement, the crowd of eager faces, and notes the fact that he is free,
unfettered. He rises to his feet, and unmindful of the questions eagerly
poured upon him, gazes slowly about him.
At last two or three policemen have appeared upon the scene. He shakes
himself loose from the people about him, and strides toward one of these
functionaries; Van Vernet is himself again.
[Illustration: "A form comes reeling out from among the smoke and
fire-tongues, staggering beneath a burden."--page 237.]
The eyes of the crowd follow his movements in amazement. They see him
speak a few words in the ear of one of the officers; see that worthy
beckon to a second, and whisper to him in turn. And then, leaning upon
the arm of officer number one, and following in the wake of officer
number two, who clears the way with authoritative waves of his magic
club, he passes them by without a word or glance, and soon, with his
double escort, is lost in the darkness, leaving the throng baffled,
dissatisfied and, more than all, astounded.
"And he never stops to ask who saved him!" cries a woman's shrill voice.
"Oh, the wretch!"
"What shameful ingratitude!"
And now their thoughts return to the rescuer, the gallant fellow who has
risked his life to save an ingrate.
But he, too, is gone. In the moment when their eyes and their thoughts
were following Vernet, he has disappeared.