THE RESCUE OF SABELLA.
Strongly as Winn pulled, the cries grew very faint and almost inaudible
during the few seconds that elapsed before he discovered the struggling
forms from which they proceeded. A glance over his shoulder showed him
a man swimming with one arm, while the other supported a
child--apparently a girl.
With a final powerful stroke the skiff shot alongside the drowning
figures, the oars were jerked in, and Winn, leaning over the side,
seized the girl's arm. At the same moment the man grasped the gunwale
of the skiff. It was no slight task for Winn to get the girl into the
boat, for she was unconscious, and formed a dead weight, that was made
heavier by her soaked clothing. He finally succeeded; and as he laid
the limp form in the bottom of the skiff and took his first good look
at her face, he uttered a cry of amazement, and doubted the evidence of
his senses. How was it possible that Sabella could be there, and in
such a predicament? Could the boat that had just been run into be the
_Whatnot_? If so, who was this man? He turned to look, and to help
him into the skiff; but, to his horror, the man had disappeared.
William Gresham had redeemed his promise with his life. From a cruel
wound, made by a splintered timber, he had bled so freely that his
fast-failing strength was barely able to hold Sabella's head above the
surface until Winn came to her rescue. He recognized the boy, and as
the little girl was lifted from his arms, he closed his eyes with the
peaceful expression of one who is weary and would sleep. Then his
grasp of the skiff relaxed, and without a struggle he slipped across
the invisible line dividing time from eternity. The hurrying waters
closed about him as gently as a mother's arms, and who shall say that
in his death the man had not atoned for his life, or that in the tawny
flood of the great river his sin was not washed away as though it had
never been?
[Illustration: The rescue of Sabella.]
As for Winn, he was overwhelmed and stunned. It was so sudden, so
terrible, and so pitiful. At one moment the man was there, and in the
next he was gone without a word. In vain did the boy look over both
sides of the skiff and over its stern in the hope that the man might
still be clinging to it. Only the swift-flowing waters met his gaze,
and seemed to mock at his efforts to wrest their secret.
The man was gone; there was no doubt of that; and now came the
harrowing question, who was he? Winn had not seen his face. It could
not have been the owner of the _Whatnot_, because, with his wooden leg,
he could not swim. It was not Solon, for the head had been that of a
white man. Could it have been his mother's only brother, his Uncle
Billy, the brave, merry young fellow who was to have been his raftmate?
Winn had already learned to love as well as to admire Billy Brackett,
though how much he had not known, until now that he believed him to be
gone out of his life forever.
He tried to believe that it was some one else, but in vain. The girl
whom he had just rescued was certainly Sabella, so of course the boat
that he had seen crushed like an egg-shell must have been the
_Whatnot_. Oh, if he had only been a little closer, or if the fog had
not been so thick! The boat was almost certain to have been the
_Whatnot_ though, and in that case the brave swimmer, who had missed
safety by a hair's-breadth must have been--
Here a moan diverted Winn's attention from his own unhappiness, and
caused him to spring to the side of the little girl. She opened her
eyes and looked at him. "Oh, Sabella!" he cried, "tell me who saved
you? Was it Mr. Brackett--my Uncle Billy, you know?"
"My Uncle Billy," she murmured faintly; then she again closed her eyes
wearily, and seemed to sleep.
"It was he, then; it was he!" And Winn, breaking down, sobbed aloud.
"And all my fault that he came on this trip! My fault, my fault!" he
repeated over and over again.
At length he became conscious of the selfishness of thus giving way to
his feelings while Sabella was still in such urgent need of his aid.
"I must get her to the raft at once!" he exclaimed, starting up and
looking about him. But there was no raft, nor was there any steamboat.
There was nothing but the skiff with themselves in it, a small circle
of brown water, and the fog. He had no idea of direction, not even
whether his skiff was heading up-stream or down, or drifting broadside
to the current. If the fog would only lift! It had been so kind to
him, but now was so dreadful.
The boy took off his coat, folded it, and put it under Sabella's head.
Then he sat beside her and rubbed her cold hands. He knew of nothing
else that he could do for her, and so he waited--waited for the fog to
lift or for help to come.
At length he began to hear sounds from every direction, the sound of
whistles, bells, and hundreds of other noises. He must have reached
St. Louis, and it would never do to drift past it. Besides, the danger
of being run down was now greater than ever. So the boy took to his
oars, and began to pull in the direction from which the loudest sound
of whistles appeared to come.
Suddenly he was hailed. "Look out dar, boss!"
"Hold on!" shouted Winn. "I am in trouble, and will give you a dollar
to pilot me ashore."
A skiff came alongside. It contained but a single occupant, a negro,
who appeared nearly as old as Solon. He listened with open-mouthed
wonder to the boy's hurriedly told story, and not only expressed a
ready sympathy, but promised to have "de young gen'l'man an' der lilly
lady lamb on de sho' in free minutes. Ole Clod, him know de way. De
frog can't fool him on desh yer ribber."
With renewed hope Winn followed closely behind his dusky pilot, and in
another minute caught sight of the welcome land. It was East St.
Louis, on the Illinois side of the river, at that time a great railroad
terminus, and Clod's little cabin stood at the edge of high-water-mark;
for he was a boatman, and gained his living from the river.
"Now, young marse, you mus' come up to my house, whar my ole 'oman
fixin' de lilly gal all right in no time." So saying, the negro lifted
Sabella in his strong arms and started towards his cabin, to which Winn
was only too glad to follow him. The boy had never felt so utterly
helpless and forlorn.
He no longer thought of taking matters into his own hands, but was
thankful to accept even the humble guidance of this negro. Under the
circumstances he could not have fallen into better hands. Not only was
Clod strong, willing, and possessed of a shrewd knowledge gained by
rough experience, but his "ole 'oman," Aunt Viney, a motherly soul of
ample proportions, was accounted the best all-round nurse of the
neighborhood. She was never happier than when bustling about in a
service like the present; and within five minutes Sabella was nestled
in the snowy centre of a huge bed, with Aunt Viney crooning over her
like a brooding tenderness, and rapidly restoring the color to the
child's pallid cheeks.
At the same time Winn was sitting by the kitchen stove in a cloud of
steam from his own wet clothing, absorbing warmth and comfort, and
relating his adventures at length to the sympathetic old man.
Clod's interest and wonder at the boy's story were shown by uplifted
hands, rolling eyes, and such ejaculations as "How yo' talk, chile!"
"Well, I nebber!" "Dat's so, bress de Lawd!" "Ef dat ar ain't de
beatenest!"
At length Aunt Viney tiptoed heavily into the kitchen with the joyful
announcement that Sabella, fully restored to consciousness, was
sleeping naturally and quietly.
"When she wakin she be all right an' hongry, de honey lamb! An' I
reckin dis young gen'l'man hongry now, an' ef he ain't he orter be, for
eatin' am de bestes t'ing in de worl' when yo' is in trouble," she
added, as she bustled softly about, making preparations for a simple
meal.
Winn did not think he could eat a mouthful, so full was he of grief and
trouble; but on making the attempt, merely to gratify the kindly soul,
found that he not only could but did dispose of as hearty a meal of
bread and milk, coffee, bacon, and sweet-potatoes, as any he had ever
eaten in his life. Not only that, but as his faintness from hunger
disappeared his hopefulness returned, and by the time he had finished
eating fully half of his troubles had vanished. He was still
overwhelmed with grief at the supposed loss of his brave young uncle,
but he had already resolved upon a plan of action, and felt better for
having done so. He would send a telegram to his father hinting at the
great sorrow that had overtaken them, and asking him to come on at
once. Then he would notify the police of the collision, with its
probable loss of at least three lives, and ask them to keep a watch for
the bodies. He would also tell them of the lost raft.
After great searching, Clod finally produced an old pen, some very
thick ink, and a few sheets of paper quite yellow with age. Then he
watched with respectful admiration the writing of the telegram, for
penmanship was an art he had never acquired. He offered to take the
message to the telegraph office while Winn was preparing a statement
for the police, and as he was evidently anxious to be of service, the
boy allowed him to do so.
The nearest telegraph office was in the railway station, and as Clod
approached it he found himself involved in the crowd of passengers just
brought in by a newly-arrived train from the North. He dodged here and
there among them, but finally, in escaping a truck-load of baggage, he
stumbled over the chain by which a gentleman was leading a dog, and
plumped full into the arms of a white-headed negro who was close behind
it.
"Scuse me, sah!" began poor Clod, most politely. Then he stared,
stammered, tried to speak, but only choked in the effort, and threw his
arms about the neck of the old negro, laughing and sobbing in the same
breath.
"Doesn't yo' know me, Solom?" he gasped. "Doesn't yo' know yer own
br'er Clod? Doesn't yo' 'member de ole plantashun 'way down in
Lou'siana, befo' de wah, an' Clod?--yo' own br'er Clod?"
Then Solon recognized his only brother, long mourned as dead, and the
two old men embraced, and wept, and held each other off at arm's-length
to get a better look at the other's changed but still familiar face.
The hurrying passengers smiled at this spectacle at once so ridiculous
and so pathetic, but good-naturedly made way for the old men, while
Bim, sharing the general excitement, barked and danced about, until his
chain was entangled with the legs of at least half a dozen persons at
once.