The Earth Trembled Part 51

"Sam, go to the square," he shouted.

"Can't lebe dese hosses. Dey's bofe lookin' ter me, an' I'se prayin' fer dem an us all."

"No matter about the horses. The house is too near." Then he ventured into the butler's pantry, cleansed his face and the cuts and bruises about his head, s.n.a.t.c.hed some food, and hastened away. He believed he had a hard night's work before him, and that he must maintain his strength. He had not gone very far down Meeting Street before he met the group accompanying Mrs. Hunter. With a glad cry he welcomed Mrs. Willoughby, and was about to take her hand when Clancy said, "Houghton, for G.o.d's sake, quick!"

George caught the end of the litter while Clancy reeled backward and would have fallen had not Mara, with a cry she could not repress, caught him in her arms and sunk with him to the pavement. He gasped a moment or two, then his eyes closed; he became still and looked as if dead.

Again the supremely dreaded subterranean rumble was heard. Mr. Willoughby shouted wildly, "Forward, quick! We can't stay here under these buildings." He and Houghton went on with a rush, the rest following with loud cries, Miss Ainsley's piercing scream ringing out above all. She did not even look back at her prostrate suitor.

Mara paid no heed to the pa.s.sing shock, but with eyes full of anguish looked upon the white face in her lap.

"Mara," said the deep voice of Bodine after the awful sound had pa.s.sed.

She started violently and began to tremble.

"Mara, go with the others. I will stay with Mr. Clancy."

She shook her head, but was speechless.

He stood beside her, his face full of deep and perplexed trouble.

At last she said hoa.r.s.ely, "You go and bring aid. He saved aunty and me, and I cannot leave him."

At this moment Aun' Sheba came running back, exclaiming: "Good Lawd forgib me dat I should leab my honey lam'! My narbes all shook out ob jint like de houses, an' my legs run away wid me, dog gone 'em! Dey's brung me back howsomeber. Now, Missy Mara, gib him ter me;" and taking him under the arms she dragged him by the adjacent tall buildings. "Missy," she added, sinking down with her burden, "go on ter de squar wid Ma.r.s.e Bodine, an'

tell dat ar young Houghton ter come quick, 'fore my legs run away wid me agin." "Both of you go to the square," commanded Bodine in the tone he would have used on the battlefield. "I will stay. There shall be no useless risk of life."

Mara lifted her dark eyes to his face. Even at that moment he knew he should never forget their expression. "My friend," she said in low, agonized tones, "he may be dying, he may be dead. I cannot, will not leave him."

"No, he ain't dead," said Aun' Sheba, with her hand over Clancy's heart, "but seems purty nigh it. Him jes gone beyon his strengt. Ole missus po'ful heby ef she ain't fat like me. Tank de Lawd, I hasn't ter be toted ter-night. No one but Kern ud tote me. Po' Kern! him heart jes break wen he know."

Bodine stood guard silent and grim while Mara mechanically chafed one of Clancy's hands. She was now far beyond tears, far beyond anything except the anguish depicted in her face. In a confused way she felt that the terrible events of the night and her own heart had overpowered her; and, with a half-despairing recklessness, she merely lived from moment to moment.

The earthquake had ceased to have personal terrors for Bodine. He had faced death too often. Nevertheless a great fear oppressed him as he looked down upon the girl he loved.

The square was not far away; Houghton and Mr. Willoughby came hastening back, and Clancy was soon added to the group of sufferers under Dr.

Devoe's care.

To Miss Ainsley's general disgust at a city in which she had been treated to such a rude and miserable experience, was added a little self-disgust that she had rushed away and left Clancy to his fate. She tried to satisfy herself by thinking that he had acted in much the same way toward her, but it would not answer. Mrs. Hunter's blood-stained face, rendered tenfold more ghastly by the light of the flames, was too strong refutation, and the fact that Mara had remained with Clancy had its sting. She saw Ella and many others ministering to the injured and feeble, and felt that she must redeem her character. When the unconscious man was brought in, therefore, she hastened forward to receive and in a measure claim him.

Although mentally comparing her conduct with that of Mara, Houghton and Mr. Willoughby thought it was all right, put Clancy in her charge, and began to follow Dr. Devoe's directions. Mara gave the girl a look which brought a blush to her face, and then devoted herself to her aunt.

Captain Bodine's first act was to speak gently and encouragingly to his daughter and cousin, congratulating the latter on her recovery.

"Yes, Hugh," said the old lady, "I'm safe, safer than I've been at other times in my life. This is but one more storm, and it is only driving me nearer the harbor. You look dreadfully; you're worn out."

"More by anxiety than exertion. It is awful to be so helpless at such a time."

"Sit down here on the gra.s.s beside me. I want to talk. I may not have much more chance in this world, but feel sure that I shall do my share in the next. Oh, Hugh, Hugh, we've all been shaken like naughty children, and some of us may be the better and the wiser for it. If Ella and that gallant knight of hers survive, how happy they will be! It makes me happy even to think of it, though for aught we know the earth may open and swallow us all within the next five minutes."

"Yes, the dear child! Thank G.o.d for her sake!"

"For your own too. There is Mara safe also. Poor Mrs. Hunter! she looks death-like to me. You look awfully too. I never saw you so pale and haggard."

"Cap'n Bodine, Ma.r.s.e Houghton send you dis," said Jube at his elbow, proffering a gla.s.s of wine.

The captain turned his startled eyes upon his old employer, who lay just out of earshot of their low tones.

"Take it, Hugh," said his cousin earnestly. "Drink to the death of hate.

He and I have made up."

The veteran hesitated, and a spasm, as if from a wrench of pain, pa.s.sed over his face. Then he took the gla.s.s, and said coldly, "I drink to your recovery, sir."

"I thank you," was Mr. Houghton's response.

"A very fair beginning, Hugh, for a man," his cousin resumed. "You might as well give up at once, though. Everything is going to be shaken down that shouldn't stand."

Ominous words to the veteran, for he felt that his dream of happiness was falling in ruins.

By the natural force of circ.u.mstances the several characters of our story had been brought comparatively near together, yet were separated into little groups. Dr. Devoe pa.s.sed from one to the other as his services were needed, nor were they confined to those known to us. He simply made a little open s.p.a.ce beside Mr. Houghton his headquarters, where he left his remedies under the charge of the invalid, Jube, and old Tobe. Other physicians had joined him and were indefatigable in the work of relief.

Some of the city clergy were also in the square, speaking words of Christian faith and hope, which never before had seemed so precious.

To Clancy Dr. Devoe gave a good deal of attention. Not only was his hair singed, but his neck and hands were badly burned, and his swoon was so obstinate as to indicate great exhaustion. This could scarcely be otherwise, for he possessed no such physique as young Houghton had developed. Moreover, he had pa.s.sed through a mental strain and excitement which no one could comprehend except Mara, and she but partially. Houghton had put his coat under the head of the unconscious man, and was doing his best for him. So also was Miss Ainsley now. She had purposely turned her back on Mara, and her face was toward the adjacent conflagration, which distinctly lighted up her face and form, transforming her into a vision of marvellous beauty. Her long hair had fallen in a golden veil over her bare shoulders and neck; her dark eyes were l.u.s.trous with excitement and full of solicitude. When at last Clancy opened his eyes his first impression was that an angel was ministering to him in a light too brilliant to be earthly. He recognized Miss Ainsley's voice, however, and when he had taken some of the wine which the doctor pressed to his lips, all that had happened came back to him. George now returned in solicitude to his father, also designing to take a little much-needed rest, while the doctor gave his attention to other patients. With returning consciousness Clancy was overpowered by a deep sense of grat.i.tude to this beautiful creature, and also by a strong feeling of compunction that he had sought the regard which she now seemed to bestow unstintedly. "Like Mara," he thought, "there is nothing left for me but to fulfil obligations from which I cannot honorably withdraw."

"You are indeed kind and devoted," he said feebly. "I fear I have made a good deal of trouble."

"No, Mr. Clancy, you have gone beyond your strength. In fact, we are all distracted and half beside ourselves. Won't you let me take your head into my lap? If I am caring for you I can better endure these awful scenes."

And she made the change.

"I hope you will forgive me for leaving you so abruptly on the Battery.

Mrs. Hunter and Miss Wallingford really had no one to look to."

"Captain Bodine evidently thinks Miss Wallingford should look to him."

"In such an emergency he would be even more helpless than she."

"Oh, well, I hope the worst is now over for us all, and that we can soon get away from this awful town."

He gave no answer. Miss Ainsley knew that her father was not far distant, and that he would come for her by the first train which could reach the city. Accustomed all her life to look at everything from the central point of self, she now, in the greater sense of safety, began to give some thought to the future. Her first conscious decision was to try to be as brave as possible, and so leave a good impression. The second was to get away from the city at once, and she hoped she might never see it again. If Clancy would go with her, if he would even eventually join her at the North, she believed that she could marry him, so favorable was the impression that he had made, but she felt that she was making a great concession, which he must duly appreciate. At present the one consuming wish was to escape, to get away from scenes which to her were horrible in the last degree.

In truth only a brave spirit could witness what was taking place on every side, or maintain fort.i.tude under the overwhelming impression of personal danger--an impression which soon banished the partial sense of security felt after reaching the square. The extent of the terror inspired by the earthquake can best be measured by the fact that although columns of smoke and fire, consuming homes and threatening to lay the city in ashes, were rising at several points, they were scarcely heeded. The roar of adjacent flames could even be heard by the vast concourse, but ears were strained to detect that more terrible roar that seemed to come from unknown depths beneath the ocean and the land, and to threaten a fate as awful and mysterious as itself. Even many of the white population could not help sharing in some degree the general belief among the negroes that the end of all things was at hand. The nervous shock sustained by all prepared the way for the wildest fears and conjectures. As in the instance of a b.l.o.o.d.y battle, those were the best off who were the most occupied.

Thousands, however, sat and waited in sickening apprehension, fearing some new horror with every pa.s.sing moment. There was a sound of weeping throughout the square, while above this monotone rose groans, cries, hysterical screams, loud pet.i.tions for mercy, and s.n.a.t.c.hes of hymns. The emotional negroes left no moments of silence. The majority of the white people had become comparatively calm. They talked in low tones, encouraging and soothing one another; the lips of even those who seldom looked heavenward now often moved in silent prayer; fathers, on whose brows rested a heavy load of care, tried to cheer their trembling families; and mothers clasped their sobbing children in their arms, with the feeling that even death should not part them.

Over all this array of pallid, haggard faces, shone the flames of the still unquenched conflagration.

CHAPTER XLIII