Kitabı oku: «The Thorogood Family», sayfa 2
Chapter Three
But what of the wreck under the Sunland cliffs, which had sent up rocket-signals of distress on that same dismal night?
When our Coastguardsman with the black beard reached the scene, he found, as he had expected, that his comrades of the Coastguard had not been idle. They had brought down the famous rocket apparatus, with which so many lives are saved every year on our stormy shores.
The wreck was in a very different position from that in the bay. Instead of being far away from shore, among rolling billows that raged over the flat sands, this vessel, a brig, lay hard and fast among the rocks, not a hundred yards from the foot of the cliffs. Against these frowning cliffs the wild waves thundered as if they wished to beat them down. Failing in that, they fell back and seemed to go mad with disappointment; leaping, hissing, and whirling among the rocks on which the brig had been cast. The brig was so near, that the men on shore could see the forms of her crew as they clung to the rigging, frantically waving their arms and sending up shrieks of despair and loud cries for help. Truly there was urgent need for help, for the sea broke over the vessel so furiously that it was evident she must soon go to pieces.
There was only one little spot of partial shelter at the foot of the cliffs where man could stand on that fearful night. Here the men of the Coastguard had set up the rocket apparatus. The rocket was in position, and about to be fired, when our black-bearded Coastguardsman arrived. The light was applied. Suddenly the group of spray-washed men, and a few pale-faced spectators who had ventured to descend, and part of the overhanging cliffs, burst into intense light as the great rocket went out to sea with a wild roar. It was like a horrid fiery serpent, and carried a line tied to its tail! It plunged into the waves, and all was dark again, but there was no cheer from the wreck. The aim had not been good, and the rocket-line had missed its mark.
“Fetch another! look alive!” shouted our black-bearded friend, as he seized, set up, and aimed a second rocket.
Again the light burst forth, and the rocket sprang out in the teeth of the gale. It fell beyond the brig, and the line caught in the rigging! The wrecked crew seemed to understand what was required of them, for they immediately began to haul on the rocket-line. To the shore-end of it was fastened, by the men on the rocks, a block or pulley with a double or endless line, called a “whip,” through it. When the men in the brig had hauled this block on board they fastened it to the stump of the main mast. Then the rescuers on shore tied a thick cable or hawser to their double line and ran it out to the wreck, but when this thick rope reached the crew, they did not seem to know what to do with it, for it was not hauled upon, but continued to hang loose.
“They must be foreigners, and don’t know what to do next,” said one.
“P’rhaps they’ve got too cold to work it,” said another. “I wish we had a little more light to see what they’re about.”
“We can’t afford to wait,” cried our friend Blackbeard, quickly throwing off his upper garments; “run me out, lads, on the whip. There won’t be much risk if you’re quick.”
“Risk!” exclaimed one of his comrades; “it will be certain death!”
But the daring Coastguardsman had already seized the thin line and plunged into the boiling surf.
His anxious comrades knew that delay would only make death more certain, so they hauled on the endless line as quickly as they could. Of course, being rove through the block before mentioned, the other half of it went out to the wreck with the gallant rescuer holding on. And what an awful swim that was! The line pulled him out, indeed, but it could not buoy him up. Neither could it save him from the jagged rocks that rose out of the sea every now and then, like black teeth which were quickly re-swallowed by each crashing wave. It was more like a dive than a swim, for the seething foam burst over him continually; but every time he rose above the surface to gasp for breath, he sent up a great shout to God for strength to enable him to save the perishing! Those loud prayers were drowned by the roaring tempest, but, though unheard by man, they did not fail to enter the ears of Him who rules in earth and Heaven.
Once the hero was thrown headlong on a rock, and so severely bruised that he lost hold of the rope, and when swept off again was left foundering in the foam. His comrades could barely see that something had happened to him, and a loud cry of consternation arose when they felt the line run light and slack. But our hero caught it again, and the cry was changed to a cheer as they ran him out to the vessel’s side.
He was soon on board, and saw at a glance what was the matter. The crew of the brig, being benumbed by long exposure, had not strength to tie the heavy cable round the mast. This the Coastguardsman did for them at once, and, as he did so, observed that there were two little girls among the crew. Then he gave a well-understood signal with a ship’s lantern to the men on shore, who fastened a slung lifebuoy to their whip line, hung it by a block to the thick cable, and ran it quickly out to the wreck.
There was no time to lose now. Our hero seized the two little girls and put them into the bag which hung from the circular lifebuoy.
“Take care of my darlings,” gasped the captain of the brig, who clung to the ship’s side almost quite exhausted.
“Come, get into the buoy, and go ashore with ’em yourself,” cried our hero.
“No. The three of us would be too heavy; send the steward. He’s a light man and brave,” replied the captain.
The steward was ordered to jump on the buoy and cling to it, so as to guard the little ones and prevent their being thrown out.
A signal having been again given with the lantern, the lifebuoy was drawn swiftly to land. It was a terrible passage, for the brig had begun to roll on her rocky bed, and at every roll the hawser and the lifebuoy dipped into the sea, or were jerked violently out of it, while the risk of being let drop on the black rocks that came grinning to the surface was very great.
But all went well. The three were received on the rocks with cheers, and conveyed up the cliffs to the Coastguard-house above, where warm welcome and shelter awaited them. The cheers were not heard by those in the wreck, but the re-appearance of the lifebuoy proved that the children had been saved, and a deep “Thanks be to God!” burst from their father’s lips.
Still the captain refused to go, when urged. “No,” he said, “let the men go first.”
So, one by one, the men were safely hauled on shore.
“Now, captain, it’s your turn at last,” said our hero, approaching him.
He still hesitated. Then the stout Coastguardsman absolutely lifted him into the lifebuoy.
“No time for ceremony,” he said, with a smile, giving the signal with his lantern, “the brig’s going fast. Tell ’em to look sharp on shore, for I’m gettin’ used up with all this work.”
Away went the captain, and in a few minutes back came the lifebuoy. Not a moment too soon. Blackbeard sprang in as the mizzen-mast snapped with a report like a cannon, and went over the side. The next wave broke up the wreck itself. Before the lifebuoy had gained the shore it was plunged into the sea, out of which it no longer rose, the support of the wreck being gone. The men on shore now hauled on the rope with desperate energy, for a few minutes more would be sure to settle the question of life or death. Through the surging breakers and over the rugged rocks the lifebuoy was dragged, and a shout of relief arose when the gallant Coastguardsman was seen clinging to it. But he was insensible, and it was with difficulty that they loosened the grip of his powerful hands.
Then they bore him up the cliffs and laid him in his own bed, and looked anxiously upon his deadly white face as they covered him with blankets, applied hot bottles to his feet, and chafed his cold, stiff limbs.
At last there came a fluttering sigh, and the eyelids gently opened.
“Where am I?” he asked faintly.
A young man having the appearance of a clergyman, laid his hand gently on his shoulder.
“All right, Tom!” he said; “through the goodness of the Lord you’re saved, and fourteen souls along with you.”
“Thank God!” said Tom Thorogood fervently, and, as he said so, the tide of life once more coursed strongly through his veins, and brought back the colour to his manly face.
Chapter Four
The great city was sound asleep. It was the deadest hour of the night, if we may apply that term to three o’clock in the morning, the hour at which most people have sought and found their pillows. Late revellers had ceased to shout and sing, early risers had yet a good hour of rest before them, if not more. Of course there were many wakeful sick folk—ah! how many in that mighty hive called London! But these did not disturb the profound quiet that had descended on the city: only a few weak but steady lights in windows here and there told of their existence.
Among the sleepless, on that calm dark night, there was one man to whom we draw attention. His bronzed cheeks and tall muscular frame told that he was not one of the wakeful sick, neither was he a sick-nurse, to judge from things around him. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, gazing into the fire and meditating—perhaps building castles in the flames. His eyebrows were very bushy and his looks stern, but there was a play of gentle, kindly feeling round his mouth. He was one of a gallant band of picked men whose duty it is to do battle with the flames, a member of the London Fire-brigade. Two other men like himself lay on two little iron beds sound asleep with their clothes on. There was this difference between them, however, that the wakeful man wore brass epaulettes on his shoulders. Brass helmets and axes hung round the room. A row of boots hung in a rack, a little telegraph instrument stood on a table near a map of London, and a small but sociable clock ticked on the wall.
That clock had quite a lively, cheerful tick. It seemed to talk to the fireman with the bushy brows until he smiled and looked at it.
“Tic—tic—tic!” said the man, “how low and gentle your voice seems to-night. Everything is so still and quiet, that you appear to be only whispering the flight of time.”
“Tic—tic—tic,” replied the clock.
But the fireman heard no more, for just then a faint, far-distant sound broke upon his ear. It drew near, like a rushing wind. Then like the noise of hurrying feet. The man rose and nudged one of the sleepers, who sat up and listened, after which he got up quickly, reached down his helmet, and awoke his companion, while the first fireman went to the station door. Some one ran against it with fearful violence as he laid his hand on the lock, and the alarm-bell rang a tremendous peal as he threw it open.
“Fire!” yelled a man who seemed all eyes and hair.
“Just so; where is it?” replied the fireman, calmly glancing at the clock.
“Fire!” again yelled the man of eyes and hair, who was for the moment mad with excitement.
“You’ve said that twice; where is it?” said the fireman, seizing the man by his arm, while the two men, who had been asleep, slipped out like fleet but quiet ghosts. One called up the sleeping firemen, the other got out two horses which stood ready harnessed in their stalls.
The fireman’s grasp sobered the madman. A street was named. The outbreak of the fire was instantly telegraphed to head-quarters, and thence to other stations concerned. Round came the horses; in flowed the roused firemen, buttoning their garments as they ran each to his own peg for helmet and axe. At the same time two or three hauled out the steam fire-engine and yoked the horses. Three minutes from the first shout of fire had barely elapsed when the whip cracked, eight or ten helmeted men sprang to their seats, the steeds bounded away and tore along the no longer quiet streets, leaving a trail of sparks behind them.
Haste! haste! was the one idea. One minute saved may be a matter of life or death in cases of fire.
Constant training, stern drill, made every man act like a calm, cool, collected thunderbolt. No fuss, but tremendous energy. No noise, but now and then a deep bass roar when any vehicle chanced to get in the way, and a quiet smile when the danger was passed.
Thus they rushed along, like a fierce fiery monster, until they reached a square in the great city which was bright as with the sun at noon-day. A mansion was blazing from cellars to attics!
Our engine was soon at work. Other engines, whose stations lay nearer to the scene of action, were already pumping volumes of water into the flames. A strong force of police kept back the vast crowd, so as to let the firemen do their work undisturbed. It was deadly work they had to do! Not only were flames spouting from every window, but masses of brickwork and blazing beams were falling in various places, rendering the service full of danger. A London crowd is usually well-behaved, but there are sometimes a few forward geese in it who think they can do things better than other people. One such, a huge man with a foreign accent, became excited, shouted, “Oh! vy don’t you put ’im hout?” broke through the crowd, and rushed among the firemen.
Our friend with the brass epaulettes and bushy eyebrows chanced to pass at the moment.
“Vy you not put more vatter on ’im?” shouted the foreigner.
The stern countenance of the fireman relaxed, and a humorous smile lit up his countenance for one instant; but he took no other notice of the foreigner, who was quickly collared by two policemen as strong as himself, and thrust back into the crowd, where he was received with laughter, and presented with much good advice. One little boy in particular recommended him seriously to go home and ask his mamma to put him to bed—a remark which was received with great delight by the bystanders.
But there was not much laughter; for the fire was very terrible, and there was a report that some of the inmates had not been rescued by the fire-escape men.
Meanwhile, our fireman with the epaulettes, who was foreman of that district, went about like a general in action, watching the flames sternly,—giving a quiet order to one, indicating a point of vantage to another, giving a helping hand here and there with the hose, answering a quick question promptly, and doing his utmost to dispose his force in such a way as to quell the raging fire. All this time he moved about among smoke and flames and falling materials as if he bore a charmed life—which, indeed, he did: for, as he afterwards said himself, the hand of God shielded him, and nothing on earth could kill him till his work on earth was done; and nothing on earth could save him when his time to die should come. This sentiment was, partly at least, the secret of the fireman’s cool courage in the midst of danger.
But the enemy was very strong that night, and the brigade could make no impression whatever on the burning house, the inside of which glowed like a smelting furnace.
“Try the drawing-room window, Jim, wi’ the fire-escape,” said our foreman to one of his men.
He helped Jim to push the huge ladder on wheels to the window mentioned, and placed it in position. While Jim ran for a nozzle and hose, there was a great cry from the crowd. A woman had got out on the ledge of an attic window, and knelt there shrieking and waving her arms, while the smoke curled round her, and the flames leapt up at her. She was high above the head of the escape; but there were fly-ladders which could be raised above that. These were instantly hoisted, and our foreman sprang up to the rescue.
The danger of the attempt lay in this—that, though the lower and upper parts of the escape were comparatively free from smoke, the middle was shrouded with a dense mass, through which now and then a lurid red flame burst. But our hero thought only of the woman. In a second or two he had disappeared in the smoke.
Two of the firemen stood below holding a nozzle of the hose and directing it on a particular spot. They did not dare to move from their post, but they could see by a glance upwards what was going on.
“Fred,” said one to the other in a low voice, “He’ll save her, or there’ll be a man less in the brigade to-night. He never does anything by halves. Whatever he undertakes he does well. Depend on’t, that Harry Thorogood will save that woman if she can be saved at all.”
As he spoke Harry was seen emerging above the smoke, but when he reached the top of the highest ladder he was fully six feet below the spot where the woman knelt.
“Come! girl, come!” he shouted, and held out his arms.
The terrified creature hesitated. She was afraid. She doubted the strength of the escape—the power of the man.
“Come! come!” again he shouted.
She obeyed, but came against the fireman with such force that the round of the ladder on which he stood gave way, and both were seen to go crashing downwards, while something like a mighty groan or cry rose from the multitude below. It was changed, however, into a wild cheer when Harry was seen to have caught the head of the escape, and arrested his fall, with one powerful hand, while, with the other, he still grasped the woman.
“God favours them,” said a voice in the crowd, as a gust of wind for a few seconds drove smoke and flames aside.
Our bold fireman seized the opportunity, got the woman into the shoot, or canvas bag under the lowest ladder, and slid with her in safety to the ground.
The pen may describe, but it cannot convey a just idea of the thrilling cheers that greeted the rescued woman as she was received at the bottom of the escape, or the shouts of applause and congratulation that greeted Harry Thorogood as he emerged from the same, burnt, bleeding, scraped, scarred, and blackened, but not seriously injured, and with a pleasant smile upon his dirty face.
