THE FIRE IN THE WOODS
Here flying loosely as the mane
Of a young war-horse in the blast;
There, roll’d in masses dark and swelling,
As proud to be the thunder’s dwelling. —Moore.
I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous.
As full of peril and adventurous spirit,
As to o’erwalk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. —Shakespeare.
“What! mounted already?” said Major Gordon, as he rode up to the
gate of Sweetwater, and saw Kate in the saddle. “I had no idea even
that you intended to ride today. I thought, in fact, that we were to
read Milton.”
It had come to be as much of a habit for the Major to appear at
Sweetwater every morning, as it was for his men to report themselves to
him at roll-call. Kate, moreover, always had a smile for him, even if
Mrs. Warren had not; and often, before he left, the manner in which the
next morning should be spent, whether in riding, reading, or otherwise,
was determined.
“Haven’t you heard!” answered Kate, as she arranged her dress,
giving a brief nod, her whole demeanor full of excitement.
“I have heard nothing.”
“Not heard it? The woods are on fire. See!”
As she spoke, she pointed with her riding-whip in the opposite direction
to that from which her guest had come.
The Major, looking where she indicated, observed, far off, hovering over
the distant swamp, a thick, black cloud, which, if the day had been more
sultry, he would have supposed to be an approaching thunder storm.
“But why should you go?” he said.
“It is my duty,” was the reply. “The population is thin at best in
this wild district, but thinner than ever since the war broke out. But
few men can turn out, and I thought”—she hesitated, and then added,
frankly, “that my presence, perhaps, would stimulate them to exertion.
For, you know,” she added, changing her tone suddenly to a light and
jesting one, “that my poor wealth is in timber almost entirely, as
that of the patriarchs was in herds and camels; and one doesn’t like
to have whole acres burned up, even though caring for riches as little
as your humble servant.”
“But you ought not to have thought of going alone. You should have
waited for me,” said Major Gordon, impulsively. “It may be fraught
with danger.”
“Thank you!” saucily replied Kate, bowing with mock gravity. “You
must excuse the curtsey,” she added, “for you see I am on horseback.
Oh! don’t explain. I say again, I’m a thousand times obliged to you,
for thinking I’m not able to manage myself, or look after my own
property; but am just like the hundred and one silly, weak creatures,
whom you men would keep in glass cases, as a pretty toy for the
mantel-piece.”
“Indeed, Miss Aylesford,” began the Major. “I beg you—”
“Nay, not another word, as you would be restored to favor,” she
said, playfully lifting her right hand, from the wrist of which her whip
dangled by a silken cord. “Or rather be put on trial for good
behaviour. The truth, sir, always comes first. I see now what all your
pretty compliments mean. Nay! not a word.” And she shook her head, a
pout on her lip, but her eyes dancing with merriment; for the Major was
looking quite disconcerted. “You and aunt both agree in having the
most sovereign contempt for my capacity for taking care of myself; I
will not add the most supreme confidence in your own powers of advice,
if not guardianship.”
“I cry your mercy,” said Major Gordon, when, after this wild rattle,
she suddenly gave her horse his head; and as he spoke, he cantered on
beside her. “I haven’t a word to say for myself. But, as I have
never seen a fire in the woods, you’ll be, I hope, my cavalier, so
that I may gratify my curiosity.” His tone, as he uttered these words,
was demureness itself.
The gay creature he was attending laughed outright. It was a light,
silvery laugh, and with all its abandon, lady-like. It was a laugh
running over with happiness and glee. She turned her head over her left
shoulder, and looked the Major frankly in the face.
“Well done,” was her reply. “You have beat me at my own weapons.
But enough of such nonsense.” And in a tone of real seriousness, she
asked, “Have you, indeed, never seen a fire in the woods?” “Never.
Are they not dangerous sometimes?”
“Often. If the wind shifts, the flames come roaring down on the
workmen, frequently faster than a man can run. These pines, in a dry
season, burn like tinder. It is a common thing for the conflagration to
rage till a heavy rain extinguishes it. Sometimes miles of forest are
devastated before the fire goes out.”
All this time, the Major and his fair companion had been pressing
forward, at a hand gallop. Before long, the smell of the burning woods,
as well as the increasing clouds of smoke, betokened their near approach
to the scene of the conflagration; and in a few minutes, turning an
angle of the road, they came in full sight of it, and checked their
horses.
Directly in front of the equestrians, appeared a space from which the
trees had been cut off by the charcoal-burners employed in providing
fuel for the neighboring iron-furnace. Here and there about this
clearing, which was nearly a mile long and a half a mile deep, stood
various smoking, semi-circular mounds, like huge black ovens; while
scattered around, were to be seen cubical piles of pine-wood, some
partially covered with earth, and some as yet entirely bare. Though
Major Gordon had never seen the process of charcoal making before, its
different stages, as thus revealed, explained the whole to him. A
log-hut, the rudest in construction he had ever seen, located in the
midst of this desolate tract, showed that the charcoal burners
temporarily resided here. But, at present, no signs of human life were
visible about the cabin. Indeed, the eye of the Major did not rest on
it, or on the smoking mounds, for more than a second, the spectacle
beyond being such as to fix his attention immediately.
Back of the charcoal-clearing stretched the pine forest, like a wall of
enormous reeds, sombre and gloomy as death. Just as the Major and Kate
arrived at the turn of the road, the fire, racing before a brisk wind,
had come into sight at the further end of the clearing. In little more
than a minute, it swept across a tract of woodland nearly a furlong in
extent. The flames had scarcely caught the lower part of a tree before
they had run to its very top. Distance seemed to be no impediment to
them, for, reaching a side-road, they did not perceptibly pause, but
crossed it at once. Indeed, the dry, resinous trees appeared often to
take fire without the contact of the elements, flashing into
conflagration from the heat alone.
As the ocean of flame advanced, it tossed billows of pitchy smoke up
into the sky, while red forky tongues shot continually forth, and
lapping the air for a moment, went out forever. Where the undergrowth
had been left standing along the edge of the wood, or where there was a
tract of wild grass, the fire, catching to it, whistled along with a
rapidity the eye could scarcely follow. It was a melancholy sight to see
the tall pines, the growth of a century, standing one moment green to
the top; and the next, after writhing helplessly in the lurid fire, left
blackened and shrivelled wrecks. The roar of the conflagration,
meantime, was awful, the sound of it seeming to pervade all space. Every
instant it grew louder and deeper, for the flames had now skirted along
almost the entire side of the clearing, and were consequently directly
opposite to our equestrians, within only half a mile.
For the first time it now occurred to the Major that their situation
might possibly become perilous. He censured himself for not suspecting
this before, but as less than five minutes had elapsed since their
arrival, perhaps less than half that time, and as, in that brief
interval, his whole attention had been engrossed by the novel spectacle,
his error was natural. He turned immediately to Kate.
She had not been less absorbed than himself, and was still eagerly
regarding the conflagration, her whole attitude and air betraying
intense abstraction. The quick, earnest words of her companion aroused
her, however, at once. She started with a blush, at the first sound of
his deep voice.
“We shall be cut off by the fire,” he said, “if we don’t fly for
our lives. As soon as the flames reach this end of the clearing, they
will extend laterally in our direction; for that is the course of the
wind. Not a minute must be lost.”
Kate scarcely waited to hear him out. At once she saw the truth of what
he said, and recognizing the imminency of their peril even better than
he did, for she was more familiar with the treacherous rapidity of these
conflagrations, she turned her steed, and, with no answer but a look,
galloped back along the road they had come.
The horses had, for some time, been restless. But their riders,
engrossed by the scene, had not observed this, though mechanically
quieting them, from unconscious habit. The moment the animals felt the
rein relax, and found their backs turned on the nameless horror which
had oppressed them, they gave way to their affright, and rushed onward
with terror, the sweat starting on their glossy coats, and their
distended nostrils reddening with blood. Neither the Major nor Kate made
any effort to check them. For both now recollected that the road they
were following curved in towards the line of the fire, and that for a
considerable time at least, they would be approaching the conflagration,
instead of increasing their distance from it. In this extremity the same
thought occurred to both. It was whether it would not be wiser to
return, for, even in the event of being surrounded by the flames, the
clearing would afford comparative safety. But each felt that already it
was doubtful if they could regain the clearing, and that nothing was
left but to press on at the most rapid pace of which Arab and Selim were
capable. They looked at each other but did not speak, for looks supply
the place of words in great emergencies. Both read each other’s
thoughts, and both said mentally that their lives now depended on the
mettle of their horses.
The air, meantime, was becoming so oppressive, that breathing grew
difficult. The smoke and heat filled the whole atmosphere, and the
terrified animals, now more unnerved than ever, were bathed completely
in sweat, and began to exhibit a disposition to bolt aside. It was with
the utmost difficulty that Kate could keep Arab’s head facing the
approaching fire, the alarmed beast swerving continually. Selim, from
having been trained to the battle field, was less affrighted at the
smoke, though, as terror is infectious, he also commenced to be
unmanageable.
Precious moments were thus lost. Suddenly the conflagration made its
appearance, about two hundred yards in front of them, and crossing the
road almost immediately, blocked up the passage with a solid wall of
fire; while rapidly spreading laterally, it threatened, in a few
instants more, to engulf our equestrians. Blazing fragments of bark were
already falling around them; the flames crackled sharper, and the roar
deepened.
Heretofore, in seasons of danger, Major Gordon had invariably known what
to do. There had always been some possibility of escape, something
which, if tried, might perhaps avert death. But now he saw no chance,
however remote. He was like the miserable victim, who, bound hand and
foot, is laid down in the path of the hideous Juggernaut, and who
beholds, with chill horror, the terrible machine advancing continually
nigher and nigher. Yet he thought less of himself than of Kate. To see
her perish before his eyes, and of a death so awful, he being powerless
to assist her, was the pang that wrung his soul. But his agony was not
unmixed with a certain pleasure. From the deep recesses of his heart,
surprising even himself, there thrilled, in this crisis, a wild joy. He
could not pause to analyze it, but it seemed to say that death was
sweet, with Kate to share it. Instinctively he looked at her, something
of all this finding expression in his glance. Her eyes met his, in a
long, full gaze, as if her whole soul was in it, a gaze which raised
this sensation of joy to one of absolute bliss. For a moment he almost
thanked heaven for the calamity which had broken down the barriers of
conventionalism and sex between them. The near approach of death had
revealed to him how much he loved Kate; and that look, did it not, he
said, betray that she loved him as well?
All this occupied but an instant. But the conflagration, in that brief
interval, had diminished its distance one-half.