THE GREAT STORM
My book is nearly full, and I do not think I shall begin another, for
my time is likely to be fully occupied now. But I must set down the
events of the last week-end and tell of the wonderful climacteric that
I have passed through. Then the curtain may be allowed to fall on my
unimportant experiences.
They have not been unimportant to me, and my recent adventures have
provided sufficient excitement to keep the tongues of the villagers
busy for months.
Incidentally I have discovered that Windyridge does not belie its name,
but that the storm fiend makes it the stage for some of his most
outrageous escapades.
We had samples of all the different kinds of weather England provides
last week--rain, snow, sleet, light breezes, fleecy clouds sailing
slowly across the blue, dull and threatening times when the skies were
leaden.
Saturday was the gloomiest day of all. It was gusty from the
beginning, but until the afternoon the wind was only sportive, and
contented itself with rude schoolboy pranks. By five o'clock, however,
its mood had changed and its force increased fourfold, and by six
o'clock it had cast off all restraint and become a tempest.
Whilst I remained in the Hall I hardly realised its fury, for the house
is well built and shielded from the full force of the northerly winds.
It was when I ventured out to visit Martha Treffit soon after dinner
that I became aware of it.
The squire had left the table with a severe headache, and retired to
his own room where, with drawn blinds and absolute quietude, he usually
finds ease, and I was left to my own devices and the tender mercies of
the Cynic, when he should arrive.
But his train was not due until eight, and it would take him a good
thirty minutes to walk from the station, so I had more than an hour at
my disposal, and I was anxious to find out how little Lucy was
progressing. She had been under the care of the doctor for several
days, and was still in bed and very feverish.
I put on my ulster, wound a wrap about my head, and stepped out on to
the drive, and it was then that I became aware of the raging elements
around me.
The wind blew bitingly from the north, charged with smarting pellets of
sleet. I had known strong winds before, but never anything like this.
It howled and roared, it hissed and shrieked; it was as much as I could
do to force my way forward against the pressure of its onrush; but
though my head was bent I saw that every bush and shrub was shaken as
by some gigantic Titan, and that the tall and naked trees swayed
towards me with groans that sounded human and ominous.
On the topmost branches, black bundles which I knew to be deserted
nests were rocked violently to and fro, like anchored boats in the
trough of a storm-lashed sea. The night was grim and black, save when
for a brief moment the full moon gleamed down upon the angry scene from
the torn rifts of the scurrying clouds.
The thought crossed my mind that it might be wiser to return, but Fate
or Providence urged me forward, and I laughed at my fears and set my
shoulder to the storm.
Phew! if it was a gale along the drive it was a hurricane in the
village street, and a hot-headed, impetuous hurricane, too. Pausing
for a second in its mad rush it leaped upon one the next moment with a
sudden fury that seemed almost devilish and was well-nigh irresistible.
Twice I was flung against the wall, but as I was hugging it pretty
closely I suffered no harm. As I struggled onward the wind was in my
teeth; a dozen steps farther and it leaped the wall on my right with a
roar, like a pack of hounds in full cry, and tore down the fields with
reckless velocity to hurl itself into the black mystery of the wood.
Not a soul was to be seen, but the clatter of a dislodged slate upon
the pavement brought a frightened woman to the door of one of the
cottages, and I stepped inside for a moment's breathing-space.
"Lord! Miss 'Olden, is it you?" she said. "I don't know how you dare
stir out. I'm a'most flayed to death to stay in t' 'ouse by myself,
but my master is off wi' most o' t' other men to Gordon's farm to give
'em a hand."
"What is the matter there?" I inquired.
"Ye 'aven't 'eard, then? They say 'at t' wind's uprooted t' big
sycamore an' flung it again' one o' t' barns, or summat, an' it's like
to fall in, so they've gone to see what can be done."
I did my best to encourage her and then made what haste I could to the
house of Roger Treffit, which stood lank and dark against the black
sky. As it was Saturday night I hoped that Roger would be away, but it
was his voice that bade me enter, and the dog rose to give me welcome.
The fire roared up the chimney and the wind met it there with answering
roar. Roger was sitting with his feet stretched out to the blaze, one
arm resting upon the table and encircling a half-empty whiskey bottle.
In his right hand he held a tumbler nearly full of spirits. I saw at a
glance that he was very drunk, but I believed him to be harmless.
"Is Mrs. Treffit upstairs? may I go to her at once?" I asked.
"Quite all right, ma'am, quite all right. Show lady ... way, Miss
T'ry.... Missis ill ... kid ill ... Miss T'ry ill ... ev'yb'dy ill.
Doctor says mus' keep kid quiet, mus'n' disturb 'er. Won't let 'em
disturb 'er, I won't.... Go forw'd, ma'am."
He rose steadily enough, and held the door open for me to pass through,
and I heard him mutter as he returned to his chair:
"Won't let 'em disturb 'er, I won't."
Martha greeted me in her usual sadly-cordial fashion, and motioned me
to a chair near the bed where the little one lay, flushed and asleep.
"She's a bit better," she whispered, "but she's to be kept quiet, an'
whatever I do I haven't to miss 'er med'cine every hour. But he says
wi' care an' good nursin' she'll pull through."
"And how is your cough?" I asked.
"Oh, about as usual," she replied indifferently. "I have to cough into
my apron when Lucy's asleep, but I should soon be right enough if I'd
nought to worrit about. It's yon chap downstairs 'at 'll be t' death
of us both."
"Has he no engagement to-night? I thought he was never free on
Saturdays."
"It's t' dog. She's poorly again, an' he can't work her. My opinion
is 'at t' poor brute's about done, an' I believe Roger knows it an'
it's drivin' 'im mad. He drinks t' day through, an' in a bit there'll
be nought for us but t' work'us, for I can't keep 'im i' whiskey; an'
whativver's goin' to come o' our poor little Lucy I don't know. I've
been lookin' at her as she lay there, Miss 'Olden, so sweet an' pretty,
like a little angel, an' I a'most asked the Lord to take 'er out of all
t' trouble, but I couldn't bide to lose 'er."
The overwrought woman buried her face in her apron and sobbed
convulsively--deep-drawn, quiet sobs which told of her soul's agony. A
solitary candle was burning upon the dressing-table, and the room
looked eerie in the half darkness. Outside the storm was at its
height, and in the stillness which neither of us broke I heard it
shriek with the shrillness which one associates with spirits in torment.
But it was the savage thrust of the wind that frightened me most, and
the heavy and repeated thuds which struck the end of the house like the
battering blows of a heavy ram. It is no exaggeration to say that the
house rocked, and I began to fear lest it should collapse. I
remembered what a shaky, decrepit structure it was, and I turned to
Martha to see if she shared my alarm.
She caught the question in my eyes: "I think it's safe enough," she
said; "it allus rocks a bit in a 'igh wind. I've got while I take no
notice of it."
Poor woman! There was a storm within her breast which dwarfed the
tempest outside into insignificance; but I held my breath again and
again, and tried in vain to stay the tumultuous beatings of my heart as
the mad wind rained blow after blow upon the quivering walls with a
persistency and ever growing fury which seemed to make disaster
inevitable.
By and by I could stand it no longer. "Are you sure the house is safe,
Martha?" I asked. "Listen to the wind now; it makes me shudder to hear
it, and the wall on yonder side absolutely heaves. Had we not better
wrap Lucy up well, and take her downstairs?"
"You aren't used to it, Miss 'Olden, an' it's gettin' on your nerves.
You needn't fear. I've seen it like this oft enough afore. But you
ought to be gettin' back 'ome, for it's hardly a fit night for you to
be out."
I was reluctant to leave, and yet I saw that I was likely to do more
harm than good if I remained, so I said good-night and left her; but at
the foot of the narrow staircase I found my way blocked and the door
barred. Angry voices came from within the room, and my knocks were
unheard or unheeded. Roger's back appeared to be against the door, and
I put my ear to it and listened.
They were mostly women's voices, and their angry tone convinced me that
they had been protesting in vain.
"Don't be a fool, Roger! I tell you t' stack 'll fall in another
minute, an' where 'll you all be then? Oppen t' door, an' let's bring
your Martha an' Lucy out, or ye'll all be killed!"
"Ye shan't disturb 'er," said the maudlin voice on the other side the
door; "doct'r said mus'n' disturb 'er ... keep 'er quiet ... won't let
anyb'dy disturb 'er."
"Can't you understand, you gawmless fool," shouted another woman, "'at
t' chimley's rockin' an' swayin', an' is bound to come down on t' top
on us all while we're standin' 'ere? Oppen t' door, you drunken
beggar, an' let your missis an' child come out!"
"I'll shoot anyb'dy 'at disturbs 'er," stuttered Roger; "hang me if I
don't. Doct'r said mus'n be disturbed ... won't have 'er disturbed.
Clear, all of ye!"
There was a sound of sudden movement, and I gathered that Roger had
raised his weapon. Sick at heart I groped my way upstairs again and
discussed the situation with Martha.
She was alarmed in good earnest now, as much for my sake as for Lucy's,
and we went down and battered the door in vain. We could hear voices
faintly, but the crowd was evidently in the road, and Roger was still
guarding the door.
We returned to the bedroom, and Martha flung herself upon her knees and
broke into fervent prayer to God.
What happened afterwards has been told me since. Afraid of the
tottering chimney-stack, and cowed by Roger's revolver, the group of
women and boys had fallen back into the road, when Barjona appeared
upon the scene with his cart.
With one accord the women rushed up to him and explained the peril of
Roger and his family, and the drunken man's insane refusal of help and
warning.
A glance above showed Barjona that their fears were only too well
founded, and--let me say it to his credit--he did not hesitate for a
moment. "Can only die once," he muttered, and without another word he
seized his whip and strode towards the house. As he entered the door
Roger covered him with his weapon and defied him to advance, but with a
hoarse growl the sturdy old man flung himself forward, lashed his whip
around the legs of the drunken man, and as the revolver discharged
itself harmlessly into the air, he seized his opponent round the waist,
and with super-human strength hurled him into the corner, where he lay
stupefied, if not senseless.
The faithful dog sprang at his master's assailant, but he kicked it
quickly aside. It was the work of a moment to draw back the heavy bolt
and rush up the creaking stairs.
"Out with you!" he cried ... "Out at once! ... no time to lose ... t'
chimney's fallin' ... Bring Lucy, Martha ... I'll go down an' watch
Roger. 'Urry up, now!"
We needed no second admonition. Barjona hurried down the steps, and
Martha darted to the bed, seized her child and a blanket, and followed
him. I had almost reached the foot of the stairs when I remembered the
medicine on which so much depended, and I ran back to fetch it. As I
did so I thought I heard a warning cry from the street, and fear gave
wings to my feet. But it was too late.
Just as I reached the dressing-table there came a fearful crash, and
through an opening in the roof an avalanche of stones and tiles and
mortar descended with terrific force. Then, to the accompaniment of an
awful roar, a dark and heavy mass hurled itself through the gap, and
the crunch of broken beam and splintered wood told where it had
disappeared into the room below. A pit opened almost at my feet, and
there came up a blinding, suffocating mist of dust, like the breath of
a smouldering volcano.
One whole end of the house fell over into the field, and I felt the
floor slope away beneath me as I made an agonised clutch at the
framework of the bed. Loosened stones fell upon and around me in
showers, but I was conscious of no pain. Choked and terrified,
however, and certain that my last hour had come, I lost my senses and
fell upon the littered bed in a swoon.
I came back to semi-consciousness in a land of shadows. I thought I
was in Egypt, lying among the ruins of the great Nile temples about
which I had been reading to the squire only a day or two before.
Overhead the moon was looking down, full orbed, and tattered clouds
were racing along the path of the skies. The jagged piles of masonry
were the giant walls of Philae, and the roar of the wind was the rush
of waters over the great dam. It was not unpleasant to lie there and
dream, and listen to the spirit voices which came indistinctly from the
pillared courts.
Then the figure of a man bent over me and an arm was placed beneath my
neck, and a familiar voice whispered in tones that sounded anguished,
and oh! so distant:
"Grace, my darling! Speak to me!"
I tried to speak, but could only smile and lean upon his arm in deep
content, and the figure bent over me and placed his cheek against my
lips, and laid a hand upon my heart, and seemed to cry for help; but
the cry was faint and indistinct, like that of a distant echo.
Then another form appeared--taller and more stalwart--and I felt myself
raised from the ground and carried to the top of the masonry, where
formless hands grasped me, and I sank--sank--with a feeling that I was
descending into the bowels of the earth--into oblivion again.
When I next awoke my mind was clearer, but I was still dazed. I half
opened my eyes and found myself in my own bed, with the housekeeper
seated at my side, and Dr. Trempest and the squire talking together in
quiet tones by the fire.
"How in thunder did they get her down?" the doctor was asking.
"Derwent heard the story as he got to the Hall and he fetched a short
ladder and climbed up as far as he could, and did some wonderful
gymnastics," replied the squire; "but Goodenough's sons came hurrying
up with longer ladders, and they lashed three together side by side,
and managed in that way. Derwent couldn't lift her, but Ben Goodenough
has the strength of an ox. But it was a tough job in a high wind on a
rickety floor."
"Well, it's a miracle, that's all I can say. I must go see Martha
Treffit's child now, but I'll look in to-morrow, early on."
"You are sure there is no cause for anxiety?" inquired the squire
anxiously; "she will come round all right?"
"As right as a bobbin," replied the doctor cheerfully. "There's only
the least bit of concussion. She was more frightened than hurt. I'll
send her up a bottle when I get back."
"You needn't trouble," I ejaculated; "it won't be mixed with faith this
time."
"She'll do!" chuckled the doctor, and he turned to me: "Go to sleep now
and behave yourself."