THE FIRE
“Again has come the Springtime, with the Crocus’s golden bloom,
With the sound of the fresh-turned earth-mould and the violet’s
perfume.”
—Samuel Longfellow.
It is the spring of Lissa’s second year in her Nebraska home. Nathan,
through with his winter duties at the post, has become farmer again, and
the prairie, yet gray with the tall wild grass of the previous year, is
black-dotted with patches of newly plowed land, while the upspringing
verdure gives the landscape a gray-green tint of great beauty.
Lissa has grown to love this Western home, and as we see her now,
tripping about the floor of her humble cabin, there is a maturer look in
her bright face and pliant figure, and though she is paler in cheek and
lip, her smile speaks the joy in her heart. Her neat calico gown is
supplemented by a white cambric apron, and as she critically glances
about her she is a picture of womanly contentment. She is obliged to
make up in swiftness now the time demanded from her work to care for the
little seraph who kicks, squirms, and even cries in her waking hours if
she is not given immediate and undivided attention. Their house has
grown with their family, and a nice little lean-to has been built,
giving an extra room, and Lissa seems to have forgotten to wish for the
spacious walls or wide balconies of her former home. She has as good as
her neighbors, and luxuries are only comparative, after all. It must be
confessed, Lissa is not a little vain of the handsome silver, few pieces
of cut-glass, and dainty napery which were among her wedding gifts, and
which she can now display on occasions to the admiration and envy of her
less fortunate neighbors. Only Alice, of all her neighborhood, can
outshine her in this, but Mark is an army officer, and quite the great
man of the place, and she cannot feel envious of one of the family.
It is nearly dinner time and baby must be put aside while Lissa prepares
the table. A motherly solicitude shines in her dark eyes as she places
the little autocrat in her crib (a large wicker clothes-basket), puts in
her clutching, uncertain grasp the rubber ring, and turns toward her
work.
“There, there, baby Lucy, lie still with your toys,
For papa is coming and does not like noise,”
she sings, in her clear treble.
“Hush, hush, there’s a deary, or mamma ’ll be weary;
There, there, but a minute, you’ll have to be in it,
Till mamma makes dinner, then baby’s the winner.”
Thus sings and rhymes the girl-mother, and the cloth is laid in a short
space of time, and few moments later the dignified, manly figure of
Nathan enters.
“How smoky it is getting outside,” Lissa says as she catches a glimpse
of the atmosphere through the open doorway.
“Yes, the fires must be making considerable headway across the river.
The smoke is much denser than it was this morning when I began plowing.”
“You think it is all across the river? No danger of its getting over
here?” Lissa questions, a note of anxiety in her voice.
“O, no; the river ’ll protect us. I should think Linkwell and Jordan,
over there, would need to start back fires, though.”
“We’ve been fortunate, this spring, not to have any started on this
side,” Lissa says.
“Yes, with as much tall, dry grass as there is about. We don’t generally
have any fear of fires at this time of year. It’s the fall when they
rage worst. The spring burning is unusual,” continues Nathan in his
measured speech. “But I suppose some one thought he’d burn off his piece
of ground before plowing, and was careless about it, as we were once
upon a time. His plowed strip may have been too narrow, or the wind too
high.”
“Oh, one cannot be too careful!” Lissa says with feeling. “I think what
a close call we had when you let me fire the ten-acre lot by the canon,
and all because the sod was not quite overturned on that rocky place at
one corner.”
“Yes, but I reckon it was a good thing to happen. You wouldn’t have
known how to fight a fire if we had not had that experience. Now if one
should start up you would know what to do.”
“Yes,” she says reflectively.
The meal ended, Nathan goes again to his work, which is now upon the
upper end of the farm, nearly two miles from the house, and Lissa, when
the dinner-work is over, sits down to rock her baby to sleep.
The smoke has become quite dense by this time, and as she looks out
across the river she sees leaping spires of orange-colored flames amidst
the lifting, rolling clouds of smoke.
“Ah, baby Lucy, we are fortunate not to be over there,” she says, and
clasps the little one more closely while she croons a lullaby.
Suddenly she is attracted by the strange actions of the family cat,
which has been stretched out upon a rug across the room. Puss darts
across the floor to the window, and placing her forepaws upon the
window-seat, looks out. Then with a look of terror she runs to Lissa,
and crouching at her feet begins to mew piteously.
“What is it, Menkin?” asks Lissa, putting down her hand to stroke the
creature’s back. The cat darts again to the window, and Lissa, following
her, sees that which blanches her face and lips to chalky whiteness.
The fire has crossed the river! The wind has carried the burning cinders
even to the nearer bank, and now, only three-quarters of a mile away,
she can see the curling smoke, and tongues of red fire lapping the dry
grass.
Frantic with alarm, her thoughts work rapidly. She drops her baby into
the basket and rushes out to the well, which, with its buckets, stands
near the house.
Heavens! How long it seems ere, working desperately, hand over hand upon
the rope, she can bring the filled bucket to the top of the curb. Then
with a pail of water and a gunny-sack she flies across the fields to
meet the oncoming fire. With supernatural strength, evolved from her
terror, with the wet sacking she beats back the ravening flames madly,
frantically, and with all the force of over-strained muscles and
fear-nerved energy she fights the merciless element, until at last,
blinded by smoke, and scorched and blackened, she turns toward the
house, and flies with all the strength left her, her only hope now to
get her baby and run with it to the only haven of safety, the black soil
of the plowed land.
Snatching her child from its pillow and folding it in her smoke-begrimed
arms she dashes again through the doorway and runs on and on over the
soft earth, until, with many yards of the moist, upturned sod about her,
she pauses and turns her eyes backward toward her humble yet beloved
home.
With fascinated gaze she watches the flames creep nearer and nearer, now
only like red snakes in the grass, then as the tall weeds catch, like
sheets of scarlet, wound and twisted in smoke-clouds.
The fire has parted at the place where her frenzied efforts have been
most effective, and one part is sweeping down the side of the road
opposite the house, the other around the barn-yard toward the stables.
She can see the horses corralled beyond the barn, and anticipating their
fate she hides her face in her child’s clothing and sobs.
She is startled by hearing the sound of galloping horses and looks out
to see a drove of frightened animals come madly down the road ahead of
the flames. Will their instincts guide them toward a place of safety? A
burning stack across the road is adding to the blinding smoke, and she
can see through smarting eyes but a short distance around her.
“O God! spare the poor creatures tied there and helpless,” she prays.
“Oh, why didn’t I think to loose them?”
She crouches down over her child and gives away to her grief. Suddenly
she hears steps near her, and glancing up, the pink nose of Puss, her
pony, is thrust into her hand.
“O you dear creature, how did you get away?” she falters. Then as she
perceives the dragging rope, yet fastened to the up-pulled stake, she
knows what Puss in her fright has been able to accomplish.
“We all have superhuman strength given us in our time of need,” she
murmurs. She strains her eyes for a glimpse of the burning house, but
the smoke is so painful she is fain to hide her face, while her faithful
horse rubs its head against her as if to assure her of sympathy.
“Lissa!” cries an anxious voice near her.
“O Nate! Oh, our poor horses and our home! What shall we do?”
“I am thankful _you_ are safe, Lissa. I feared you might not remember to
come here soon enough. Keep your eyes covered and crouch down close to
the ground. This smoke from that burning stack is overpowering.”
“And our burning house and barns! O Nate,” wails Lissa, “those poor,
poor horses!” She bows her head again, and for some moments neither
speak.
“Lissa, Lissa, look up!” cries Nathan suddenly, his voice thrilling with
a note of exultation. “Our home is safe! Do you hear? Safe!”
Lissa raises her eyes. The smoke has lifted, and to their surprise and
joy they see revealed to them the buildings standing, unharmed. The
fire, although raging across the road, has let the barrier of only a few
feet, the width of one wagon-track, turn its course, and now, passing
on, has left only a blackened, smoking trail behind it.
It has passed back of the stables, turned by the yards, and left them
and the horses untouched.
“It is a miracle, Lissa!” says Nathan devoutly, his slow speech giving
force to his words. “As soon as the turf cools we can go
home,—home—think of it!”
But Lissa is weeping hysterically.
“What, crying when the danger is over? This is not the time to cry. What
is it for, little girl?”
“O Nate, Nate—Nate! I—can’t help it! I—I’m—so happy! I—I’m so glad!” she
sobs.
“There, there, give me the baby. Your nerves are all unstrung, that is
certain, and small wonder at it. But what’s this? What’s the matter with
your hands? Why, child, they are all blistered and burned. What have you
been doing?”
“I—I fought the fire,” falters Lissa.
“My poor child!”
“I beat it back just as long as I could,” she pants.
“And divided it, and saved our home! I understand all now,” Nathan
answers in broken tones.
“No, it was the yards, I think. It was a miracle. I only beat it out up
to the road.”
“And kept it on that side. But these poor hands must be looked after.
Aren’t they paining you?”
“I—I haven’t thought of them,” replies Lissa. “How could I when these
poor animals and—and our house were in such danger.”