A PHALANX.
At noon of that same Sunday Faller started for the Morgenhalde to tell
Lenz the good news about his house. It was impossible to see his way
before him, so fiercely did the snow and rain beat against his face. He
plodded along with his head down till he supposed his place of
destination must be nearly reached, when he looked up and rubbed his
eyes in wonder and consternation. Where was he? had he lost his way?
where was Lenz's house? There were the pine-trees that stood by it, but
the house, the house! In his excitement he lost the path and fell into
a deep snow-drift, into which all his efforts to extricate himself only
made him sink the deeper. He cried in vain for help; no one heard him.
He had just strength left to work his way along to a tree, by whose
branches he clung till a fresh avalanche from above bore the snow away
from under him and left him free. By following the clearing which the
avalanche had made in its descent he succeeded in reaching the valley.
It was already dark, and the lights were shining from the houses as he
ran through the village, crying, "Help! help!" in a tone loud enough to
wake the seven sleepers. All hastened to the windows or into the
street, and the report quickly spread from mouth to mouth that the
house of Lenz of the Morgenhalde had been buried under the snow.
The alarm-bell which Faller hastened to ring from the church had small
effect in bringing persons from beyond the village. The wind prevented
the sound from reaching to any great distance, and those who heard it
were deterred by the violence of the storm from obeying the summons.
Pilgrim and the engineer were the first who appeared on the square
before the church. Pilgrim was struck dumb with horror at the terrible
misfortune which had overtaken his friend in this night of fearful
storm. The engineer displayed the greatest bravery and presence of
mind. "Bring all the ladders and cords you can lay hands on," he cried;
"and shovels and picks besides."
Torches flared in the wind, casting a wild light upon the pale,
dishevelled women, who, with their cloaks thrown over their heads to
keep out the sleet and rain, clung to their husbands and sons, and
besought them not to risk their lives in this dreadful storm.
The engineer fastened one end of a long rope about his body, and,
instinctively assuming the place of leader, commanded that every six
men should fasten themselves together at convenient distances to afford
mutual support, and prevent loss of time from having to hunt up
scattering members of the party. Pilgrim tied himself to the same rope
with the engineer; Don Bastian was about to do likewise, but their
temporary leader advised his heading a second company of six. A
quantity of dry wood was collected to light fires with, and, armed with
picks, shovels, and ladders, the party began the ascent of the
mountain.
Within fifty paces of the house,--they could not approach nearer,--a
clearing was made in a comparatively sheltered spot, and a fire
lighted. Ladders were placed against the wall of snow, which proved,
however, too soft to bear a man's weight. Cries of "I am sinking! I am
sulking!" were heard here and there, while the confusion and danger
were increased by the impossibility of keeping the torches alight in
the wind. All expedients having failed, it was pronounced useless to
attempt the rescue in the night, and the party went homewards. Faller
at once offered to remain behind to watch the fire,--a duty which
Pilgrim would have shared, had not the engineer, seeing how the poor
fellow's teeth were chattering, made him go home with him, comforting
him with the assurance that, if the buried inmates were still alive,
they would be able to hold out till morning.
It soon became known in the village that Petrovitsch also must be
buried under the snow. He had started for the Morgenhalde in the
morning, and had not since returned. Ibrahim, his companion at cards,
appeared in the street at the ringing of the alarm-bell with the cards
in his hand, crying out, "Where is Petrovitsch? I am waiting for
Petrovitsch."
"It would be terrible," said Pilgrim to his new friend the engineer,
"if Petrovitsch should have perished in attempting to offer his tardy
help."
Pilgrim reproached himself bitterly for having spent the whole day in
childish games, instead of going to the Morgenhalde. His mind had
misgiven him all the while that things were not right with Lenz, but he
had reasoned away his fears and been merry with his godson. The child
lay quietly sleeping in bed, unconscious of the fate which that night
might be bringing him, perhaps had already brought. Pilgrim established
himself in a chair by the little fellow's side, and sat watching him
till his anxious eyes closed, and he too fell asleep.
Faller, meanwhile, remained like a soldier at his post, happily not
quite alone, for a workman of the village, who had once been a pioneer,
stayed behind with him on the field of danger. The two held counsel
together how the snow-fortress should best be taken, but no possible
mode of attack did they see. Poor Faller poked the fire in wrath that
he could be of so little use.
A stranger joined them at their watch-fire,--a messenger from the city
who had been sent to summon Annele to her mother's death-bed.
"There she is," said Faller, in bitter irony. "Fetch her out, if you
can!" After learning what had happened, the man returned as he had
come, through the night and storm.
Faller managed, by means of a by-path, to mount up into what had been
the forest, hoping thus to be able to reach the pine-trees by the house
and bring help nearer. With his comrade's assistance he rolled several
great logs down the slope towards the pines. Some rolled beyond the
trees and remained upright in the snow, while one fell in the desired
position, with its end resting upon one of the projecting branches.
The second man here suddenly bethought himself, that the logs they had
been rolling down might break in the roof and crush all under it.
"What a fool I am!" cried poor Faller; "the greatest fool in all the
world. Dear, dear Lenz, God grant I may not have been your murderer!"
Finally he crawled across the bridge which the one log had formed and
succeeded in kindling by his torch several of the other logs that stood
or lay near it.
"That will melt the snow," he cried, exultingly.
"Yes; and set fire to the thatched roof," returned his comrade.
Faller stood in mute despair. The two began rolling up great snowballs
and throwing them into the fire, just as the day was dawning, which
they succeeded in extinguishing.
It was a clear day, almost as warm as spring. The sun shone bright on
the Morgenhalde, seeking the house it had so often greeted; seeking the
master who on Monday morning always sat busy at work in the window, as
his father and grandfather had done before him. It found neither house
nor master. The sunbeams quivered and shimmered here and there as if
they had lost their way. There lay the defiant snow, challenging them
to do their worst. The sun sent its fiery darts against the few
cowardly flakes that yielded, but the solid fortress would hold out for
days.
All the villagers were on the spot, the engineer at their head. Other
villages too and other parishes had sent men and help in abundance.
Faller's logs offered a firm support, and companies were organized for
working systematically both from below and above. A single raven flew
persistently round and round the workmen and would not be frightened
away. The men perched high in the air shouted at him; he heeded not
their cries, but watched them at their work as if he knew what they
were about, and had something to tell them if he could but have spoken.