Kitabı oku: «The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson: or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XX – THE FIRE BRIGADE
Ruth and Barbara related to Miss Sallie their adventures of the day before. She went through a dozen stages of emotion, and fairly wrung her hands over the tramps. The part about José she could not believe.
“That nice boy!” she exclaimed. “It is impossible.” Then she grew indignant. “What does John Ten Eyck mean by bringing us into this lawless country, I should like to know?”
“But, auntie, the major declares it was never like this before. The woods have always been perfectly safe. When Stephen and Martin were little boys they used to play in them with only Old Jennie to look after them.”
“Ruth,” cried Miss Sallie, “the major is one of the nicest men in the world, but he always would overlook disagreeable things. He runs away from anything that hurts. He may have overlooked the tramps and robbers, just as he has been blind to ugliness whenever he could.”
“He’s a dear,” said Mollie.
“Dear or no dear,” cried Miss Sallie, “this time we really must go. Tell the chauffeur to fix up the machine, Ruth, my child, for to-morrow we shall leave this barbarous place.”
“All right, auntie,” replied her niece, relieved that they were not to go immediately, since they all wanted to see the episode of José through.
Time passed, but the four horsemen did not return. The girls were sitting with Miss Sallie at the shady end of the piazza, watching the sun sink behind the forest. There was a smell of burning in the air that the sensitive nostrils of the chaperon had sniffed immediately.
“The wind must be blowing from the mountains to-day,” she observed. “I smell burning as plainly as if it were at our gates.”
“But, Miss Sallie,” said Grace, “remember that it smelt like this in New York last week.”
“My dear,” replied Miss Sallie, “I am perfectly familiar with the smell of burning forests, I have smelt them so often in imagination. Why, see, the air is filled with fine ashes,” she exclaimed, shaking out her lavender skirts with disgust. She had hardly spoken before a tall figure was seen hurrying across the lawn.
“It’s blind Jennie,” cried Ruth. “Perhaps she can give us news of the major or José.”
As old Jennie approached they could see she was fearfully excited. Her face was working and several times she waved her stick wildly in the air. Just then a strange thing happened. Half a dozen terrified deer appeared from the direction of the forest, dashed madly across the lawn and disappeared in a grove on the other side. Squirrels and rabbits followed by the dozens, while distracted birds flew in groups and circled around and around the tops of the trees.
“What has happened, Jennie?” cried Ruth, shaking the blind woman by the arm.
Jennie seemed to scan the company with her sightless eyes, sniffing the air wildly.
“The woods are burning,” she said. “The flames are coming nearer. They are slow, but they are sure. Everything is so dry. You must hurry, if you would save the house!”
“Save the house?” repeated Miss Stuart mechanically. “Do you mean to say there is danger of this house being burned down? Is the fire coming this way? Great heavens! Order the car at once, children. We must leave at any cost. This is the last straw!”
“But, Aunt Sallie,” urged Ruth, laying a detaining hand on her aunt’s arm, “you wouldn’t have us desert the major’s house, would you, and leave all these beautiful things to burn? Besides, we may be running away from the major and the boys. How do we know but that they are in the woods? They may need our help.”
“My child, we are not a fire department,” exclaimed Miss Sallie, “and if we are to save this beautiful house, how do you propose to do it?”
“If worse comes to worst,” cried Bab, “we can form a bucket brigade here, and keep the fire from getting to the house.”
“What about water?” demanded Miss Sallie.
“Don’t you remember the major said he had a well of water reserved for fires?” said Ruth.
“It may not be necessary to use the water,” Bab continued. “The first thing to do is to cut off the forest fire by having a trench dug on that side of the house. Everybody will have to get to work. Come on! We must not lose time.”
Miss Sallie ran into the hall and rang a bell violently. John, the butler, came at once.
“John,” she cried, speaking very rapidly, “the forest is on fire. Get every available person on the place as fast as you can, with shovels and hoes and help the young ladies dig a trench to protect the major’s house.”
John looked dazed, sniffed the air and ran without a word. Presently a bell thundered out in the stillness. It had not been rung for many years, but the employees on the place knew what it meant, and came running from their cottages, and the work of digging a trench beyond Ten Eyck Hall was begun. Each moment the air was growing more dense and a darkness was settling down which was lit up, toward the west, by a lurid glow. The heat was intense and fine ashes filled the toilers’ throats and nostrils. Birds, blinded by the smoke dashed past, almost hitting the workers’ faces. People came running from the burning forest, the old Gypsy woman and her granddaughter and other women from the Gypsy band. The men were bringing the wagons around by the road; old Adam and his wife, driving their wood cart and frantically beating the worn-out horse; and finally, the hermit, with his white locks flying. Ten Eyck Hall would seem to have been the refuge of all these terrified dwellers in the forest. They regarded it with pride and love. Even the Gypsies had sought its protection, and the gray, rambling old place appeared to stretch out its arms to them. Blind Jennie strode up and down the lawn, wildly waving her stick, while old Adam called to Miss Sallie:
“Where is the master? Where are the young masters?”
And where were the old master and the young ones? If ever they were needed, it was now!
In the meantime, the girls, leaving Miss Sallie to direct the digging of the trench, had run to the house.
“I think, Ruth,” called Bab, “we had better collect all the buckets and pails we can find.”
“Yes,” replied Ruth, “and the hose should be attached to the reserve well. John is attending to that. Mollie and Grace, run and get whatever blankets there are in the bed rooms, and close the windows all over the house.”
While John was attaching the hose to the faucet of the reserve well, Ruth and Bab invaded the enormous kitchen of the hall. The servants had fled. Only Mary and John could be depended upon. The pumping engine had been started and the tank was rapidly filling.
“O Ruth,” exclaimed Bab, “how careless of us to have forgotten the cars! The garage is nearest to the forest and the automobiles should be run out right off. We may need them if things get very bad.”
“Of course,” replied Ruth. “Where is the chauffeur? Did you ever know any of these people to be on hand when they were needed?”
Dashing to the garage, they cranked up the two machines and ran them out onto the lawn in an open space. José’s motor cycle came next.
“The fire has come,” cried Grace and Mollie running up with their arms full of blankets. They could hear the roaring, crackling sound as the flames licked their way through the dry underbrush.
“Where is Miss Sallie?” demanded Ruth. “She will faint in this terrible atmosphere.”
“There she is,” answered Grace; “she is overseeing the trench-digging. I think she has ordered them to make it broader.”
Miss Sallie, her lavender skirts caught up over her arm, was standing near the men, giving her orders as calmly as if she were in her own drawing room.
The line of forest about a quarter of a mile distant began to glow red. The girls clutched each other.
“There it is!” they cried. “And now to save the major’s house!”
Bab organized a bucket brigade with Mollie, Grace and the Gypsy women. John was ordered to manipulate the hose, while Bab and Ruth carried wet blankets over to the garage, the building nearest the line of fire. Then a cry went up from the men who were digging the trench. The flames, which had been steadily devouring the dried grass of the meadow dividing the garden from the wood, had reached the trench. A sudden gust of wind carried them over. Instantly a group of bushes caught fire; and, like an angry animal seeking its prey, a long, forked tongue licked the ground hungrily for a moment, paused at the gravel walk, followed its edge, eating up the short, dry grass in its path, and made for the garage. All this happened in much quicker time than it takes to tell it – too quickly, in fact for any precaution.
CHAPTER XXI – FIGHTING THE FLAMES
Never had “The Automobile Girls” displayed greater courage than at this critical moment. It was the time for quick action and quicker thought. The men who were digging the trench could not leave their work. They saw that, unless the trench were dug wider, it would be necessary to fight the flames back, and they were digging like mad to keep the fire from leaping the ditch again.
It was Mollie who saved them from a terrible explosion by remembering the house where the gasoline was stored just behind the garage, and John and Adam rolled the tank to a distance temporarily safe at least.
Bab had found a ladder somewhere. Placing it against the garage she had scaled it like a monkey, carrying under one arm a wet blanket the weight of which she was too excited to notice. She never quite knew how she shinned up the roof, but presently she found herself astride the pinnacle. Zerlina had followed close behind, with more blankets and together the two girls spread them over the smoking shingles. When the roof was covered, they let themselves down and began dashing water on the smouldering walls. The bucket brigade was working well under the direction of Ruth, and the garage was saved.
Then a line of clipped bushes running from the garden to the forest, suddenly burst into flames. A cry went up from the workers at this terrifying spectacle. To the girls, it seemed like a gigantic boa constrictor racing toward them, and, for a moment, they turned cold with fear.
“All hands must help here!” cried Bab, taking command, as she naturally did in times of danger. “Zerlina, tell the men to come from the trench with their shovels. Bring pails of water, all of you,” she called to the Gypsies, “and the rest of the wet blankets.”
There was a rush and a scramble. They tried to beat down the angry little flames, dashed water on to them, choked them with wet blankets, trampled on them, and finally fell back, stifled and blinded with smoke and ashes, only to find the gasoline house a burning mass. It had gone up like a tinder box in an instant, and was reduced to ruins.
“If we have any more gusts of wind like that last, Bab, we are lost!” cried Ruth, sobbing a little under her breath. “But, of course, if the worst happens, we can always take the automobiles. They can run faster than the flames.”
Back of the garage they could see another line of flames advancing like a regiment of cavalry.
“Great heavens!” cried Grace. “What shall we do now?”
“Don’t despair, yet,” answered Bab. “Those dividing hedges are very dry, but the flames don’t spread from them so quickly; and, besides, I believe the trench will stop them.”
“O Bab,” exclaimed Ruth, “do you think there will ever be an end to this? We are too tired to dig trenches, and the water is getting alarmingly low.”
“But there are two more cisterns,” replied the undaunted Bab.
Just then the wind, which, up to this time, except for a few brief gusts, had been merely a breeze, gathered new strength. Sparks began to fly from the burning underbrush in the wood. It had been a ground fire, owing to the long drought, and the trees still waved their green branches over the ruins at their feet.
Ruth seized Bab’s hand convulsively.
“Young ladies!” called a voice behind them. Turning, they confronted the hermit. “I am a very old man, but, if you will permit me, I will make a suggestion. Save what water is left for the roof, which should be deluged as soon as possible. The trench will stop the fire, but it cannot keep back the sparks and I see a wind has come up that is most dangerous.”
“Oh, thank you,” cried the two girls, seeing the wisdom of his suggestion immediately.
Miss Sallie, a tragic spectacle, came from around the house; her white hair tumbling down her back, her face gray with ashes and her lavender garments torn and wet.
“Girls,” she murmured, her voice trembling, from fatigue and excitement, “we have done all we could do for the major. I think we had better give it up and go while we can get away.”
“Let us have one more chance. Aunt Sallie, dearest,” begged Ruth, “and if that fails there will still be time to get away in the motor car.”
“What are you going to do now, child?” asked the poor woman distractedly.
“You go and sit down in one of the long chairs on the piazza and rest,” replied her niece, patting her hand tenderly, “and leave everything to us.”
The girls could hear the throbbing of the pumping engine somewhere below, as they dashed up the steps. John had connected all the cisterns and the machinery was working in good order. The candles and lanterns they carried hardly made an impression in the blackness of the great empty garret, but an exclamation from John called attention to the fact that the sliding partition was down.
“I never knew it to happen before,” he said, “except once when I was too small to understand.”
“How are we going to manage?” asked Grace, looking overhead.
“Through the scuttle to the roof,” replied Barbara, pointing to a ladder leading to a trapdoor.
John climbed up first, opening the scuttle, and everybody lent a hand in lifting out the hose he had brought along. Barbara and Zerlina followed to the roof, which was steep and much broken by pinnacles and turrets; yet in contrast with the attic it was quite light outside, and the girls could see perfectly where to step without slipping.
Only two people were needed, it was decided. Bab would not hear of Ruth’s coming, on account of the latter’s horror of high places. It was certain that Mollie and Grace were not agile enough for the experiment, and Bab and Zerlina had already proved what they could do when they scaled the garage roof.
The three girls left behind climbed onto a balcony just outside one of the attic windows and watched, with tremulous interest, what was happening on the roof.
Thus Zerlina and Barbara, with old John, were left alone on top of Ten Eyck Hall. They had a wonderful view of the smoking forest, the tops of whose trees were waving in the steadily rising wind. The trench had, indeed, stopped the course of the flames which had run along the meadow hedges, and there were no more lines of fire to be seen; but there was a bright glow toward the back and a sound of crackling wood. Then came a burst of flames and the onlooker saw that the stable was burning. A spark lit on Bab’s wrist; another touched her on the cheek, and presently a gust of wind brought dozens of them twinkling like shooting stars at night. They fell on the shingled roof, smouldered for a moment and went out. Others followed. It could be only a matter of a little while, thought Bab, before the hall would be in flames if they were not prompt with the water.
“It’s all right, Miss,” called John’s voice from behind the tank on the part of the roof over the attic. There was a gurgling noise and a swift jet of water burst from the nozzle of the hose.
With Zerlina’s assistance, Bab began watering the roof. But the tallest peak was beyond reach of the hose. There the sparks were smouldering into life and Bab distinctly saw a a little puff of flame lick out and then go back again like a cunning animal biding its time.
Bab ran over to the tank.
“John,” she called, “get a ladder and a pail.”
Together they unhooked the ladder attached to the tank and dragged it over to the high center peak of the roof. There was a pail, also, which they filled with water. While the old man held the ladder Bab climbed up, taking the pail from Zerlina. Several times the brave girl dashed water over the smoking shingles until every spark was dead. Then, standing on one foot, on the top rung of the ladder, Bab braced herself with a lightning rod running up the side of the turret, and leaned over to see if all were well on its other section. Below her she could see the girls on the balcony peering up at her with frightened eyes. Lifting herself entirely off the ladder, for an instant, Bab glanced around the turret. In slipping back, her foot missed the rung. The shock made her lose her grip on the lightning rod, and like a flash she slid down the steepest part of the roof now slippery from its recent wetting. There was nothing to hold to, nothing to cling to, and she closed her eyes from the horror that was before her.
It is said that a great many things pass through one’s mind at such brief, tense moments as these, when death is almost certain.
The thought that came to Bab’s mind, however, was her mother’s prayer, “Heaven make me calm in the face of danger.”
There was, of course, a shudder of horror, a wild, ineffectual effort to save herself – a shock.
When she opened her eyes, three pairs of arms encircled her, and three sobbing faces hovered over her. She had landed upon the roof of the balcony where the girls were waiting. Except for a bruised arm, she had met with no harm.
“Why, girlies,” she said, smiling a little weakly, “were you so frightened?” and then closed her eyes again.
Zerlina and John came tumbling down the ladder. The Gypsy girl was as white as a sheet and old John was openly sobbing.
“I’m all right,” Bab assured them, standing up and shaking herself to bring her senses back. She bathed her throbbing wrists and temples, and all climbed down into the lower regions of the house. It was decided to water the side of the house, and after that nothing more could be done. The whole place was lit up with the burning stable, and sparks were flying in every direction. The wind had risen to a gale and the skies were overhung with a black canopy of clouds kindled by occasional flashes of lightning. There was a low grumbling sound of thunder. Down the avenue came the clatter of horses’ hoofs. At the same time there was a terrific clap, and the rain poured down in torrents.
“Here they are!” cried the girls as Major Ten Eyck and the boys leaped from their horses and dashed up the piazza steps. José was not with them.
CHAPTER XXII – EXPLANATIONS
The major and his nephews were shocked at the appearance of their guests, who were hardly recognizable. Jimmie Butler retired behind a curtain and give vent to one little chuckle. He would not, for anything, have let them know how funny they looked.
“I shall never forgive myself for leaving you,” groaned Major Ten Eyck. “Why did you not take the car and leave the old place to burn? How can the boys and I ever thank you?” he continued, with emotion.
Before Stephen would give an account of the search for José he made Ruth repeat the history of the afternoon from beginning to end. The major and the boys were filled with admiration and wonder for these four brave “Automobile Girls” and Miss Stuart.
“There is nothing we can do,” exclaimed Jimmie, “to show what we feel, except to lie down and let you walk over us.”
“And now for José,” prompted Ruth, when she had finished her story.
“Well,” replied Stephen, “we got news of José almost as soon as we had passed the Gypsy camp. A man on the road told us he had seen a boy who answered the description exactly, walking on the edge of the forest. We traced him back into the country to a farm house, where according to the farmer, he had stopped for a drink of water and turned back again toward the forest. It was necessary to come back by a roundabout way because of the cliffs on the outer edge, and not until we reached the hermit’s house did we realize there was a fire that must have been started by those tramps, for it was at its worst about where they were yesterday. We were frantic when we saw that it was blowing in the direction of the hall, but we couldn’t get through and had to go the whole way around. Our only comfort, when we saw the glow of the burning stable, was that you had taken the automobile and gone back to Tarrytown.”
The faithful old butler appeared with lights, and informed the major that the other servants had returned very repentant, and if agreeable, dinner would be served in half an hour.
“But I think the ladies will be much too tired to come down again,” protested the major.
“Oh, no, we won’t,” answered Ruth. “If there’s enough water left to wash in I would rather dress and come downstairs for food.”
“So would we all,” chorused the others, except Miss Sallie, who took to her bed immediately, and dropped off to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
“Stephen,” asked Ruth at dinner, “do you believe poor José was caught in the fire?”
“It’s rather a horrible idea,” said Stephen, “yet I don’t know what else to think. He must have caught wind, somehow, that we had found him out and concluded to hide in the woods.”
“Old Jennie wishes to speak to you, sir,” announced John.
“Bring her in here,” ordered the major, and Jennie was ushered into the dining-room. “How are you, Jennie? I am glad to see you,” said the major, leading her to a chair. “I hope you were not injured by the fire?”
“Be there anyone here but friends?” whispered Jennie.
“No one, Jennie. What is it?”
“When the storm came up I went straight to the forest,” said the old woman. “Adam went with me and we took his horse and wagon. The fire had not touched the road and the ground was wet where we walked. As we passed by the place – ” here she put her finger to her lips and gazed wildly about, “you remember, young ladies? I went over to see if all was well. The door was open and on the floor lay the young man. He is not dead, but he is very ill here,” old Jennie pressed her hand to her chest. “He has swallowed the smoke. We put him in the wagon and he is outside.”
“José here? Outside?” they all cried at once, rushing to the front door.
In the pouring rain, Zerlina and her grandmother were leaning over a young man stretched out prone in Adam’s wagon. He wore the green velveteen suit now so familiar to “The Automobile Girls,” and through his belt gleamed the dagger he had used to slash the tires with. When he was lifted out, they caught a glimpse of his face. José it was, but José grown thin and haggard in a day and a night. The boys carried him tenderly upstairs and laid him on his own bed. Zerlina and her grandmother followed close at their heels.
“Do you know him, then?” asked Stephen of the Gypsy girl.
“Yes,” she replied defiantly. “He is my brother. Antonio is his name.”
“Whew-w-w,” whistled Stephen under his breath. “So José was an impostor after all. I must say I hoped till the last.”
“Well, well,” answered the major, “we won’t hit a man when he is down, my son, and this boy is pretty sick. The girl is his sister, you say? She and her grandmother had better nurse him, then. Send the old woman to me. I want to speak with her in the library.”
After being closeted with Granny Ann for half an hour the major flung wide the library door and called to the others to come in. His good-natured, handsome face was wrinkled into an expression of utter bewilderment, but relief gleamed through his troubled eyes.
“Children,” he cried, “come here, every one of you. José is vindicated. Thank heavens for that. The boy upstairs is not our José at all, but his half-brother, Antonio. Now, where do you suppose José has hidden himself? I trust, I earnestly hope, not in the woods.”
“It seems,” continued the major, “José’s father was married twice. A nice chap, José. I trust he is safe to-night, for his poor father’s sake as well as for his own.”
“And his second wife, uncle?” interrupted Stephen.
“Yes, yes, my boy,” continued the major, patting his nephew affectionately on the shoulder, “and the second wife was a beautiful Gypsy singer, who had two children, Zerlina and Antonio, the unfortunate young man now occupying José’s room. A Gypsy rarely marries outside her own people and this one longed to return to her tribe. One day she ran away taking her children with her, and Martinez never saw his wife again, for she died soon after. He has tried, in every way, to recover the children, but until now the Gypsies have always managed to hide them effectually. Since they were children Antonio has hated his half brother José and from time to time has threatened his life. Once, in Gibraltar, the brother almost succeeded in killing him.” (The girls remembered how much José had disliked the mention of Gibraltar.) “Antonio was a bad boy, utterly undisciplined. He ran about Europe and this country, seeing what harm he could do, but neither his father nor his brother could ever locate him. José finally heard that the children were in America and came over to try to reason with the Gypsies to let Zerlina, at least, go to school. I do not suppose he reckoned on finding them so near, and, when Antonio tried to rob and murder, José was divided in his mind as to whether to give his brother up or let him go. He must have suffered a good deal, poor fellow. I wish José had confided his troubles to me. Now, maybe, it’s too late to help him.”
“And the knife?” asked Bab.
“There were two knives which belonged to the Martinez family. The Gypsy took one away with her when she left her husband.”
“Will Antonio stay here to-night, Major?” said Mollie, timidly, remembering the masked robber and his murderous weapon.
“He is too ill, now, to do any harm, little one,” replied the major, taking her hand. “Besides, his grandmother and sister will watch over him I feel certain, and who knows but the boy may have some good in him after all?” he added, always trying to see the best in everybody.
“Nevertheless, we’ll lock our doors,” exclaimed Ruth. “It’s not so easy to forget that our highwayman is sleeping across the hall.”
