Shawn Of Skarrow Part 10

Jenkins made the landing, and heading his boat for the middle of the river, made a long crossing for the Indiana sh.o.r.e.

"It's a fine night," said Turpin.

"Beautiful," said Jenkins.

He turned and gazed toward the stern of his boat as she swung into the clear and squared herself for the point of the bend. The moonbeams glittered and danced on the waves in the wake of the steamer, and the rays touched the snow on the hills with diamond sparks. The tall sycamores on either side stood clearly outlined against the wintry sky, and the white corn-shocks on the distant ridge were silhouetted like Indian wigwams. Here and there a light glimmered from some cabin window, and a dog barked defiance at the boat as it sped up stream.

"The States ought to be about due," said Turpin.

"I think I hear her now," said Jenkins.

When they got up to the point of the bend where they could see up the river, they saw the States coming down. From her forward smoke-stacks were the signal lights of emerald green and ruby red, trembling in delicate brilliancy against the background of silvery sky. The splash of her ponderous wheels as they churned the water, seemed to vibrate into a song of gathering power. When the two boats were about eight hundred yards apart, Jenkins turned to Turpin and said, "Blow two blasts; I'll take the left side." Turpin sounded the blasts, and Jenkins headed for the Indiana sh.o.r.e. Jacob Remlin, the pilot on the States, blew one blast of his whistle just as Turpin sounded the first signal on the America.

Jenkins on the America, did not hear Remlin's one signal, because it sounded at the same time of the first signal from the America. Remlin on the States, heard the last one of the signals from the America, taking it for an answer to his own signal, and he also headed his boat for the Indiana sh.o.r.e. Both men violated the rules of signals. Remlin should not have blown any signal until he heard from the up-stream boat, and Jenkins, not hearing any signal from the States, should have stopped his boat. Jenkins was standing on the starboard side, that placing him behind the chimney, and he did not see the States until she came out across his bow.

"My G.o.d!" shouted Turpin, as he saw the States bearing down upon them like some ferocious monster, "We're lost!"

The boats came together with a fearful crash. The smoke-stacks groaned and hissed, and great clouds of smoke rolled over the scene. The first shock of the collision brought a sudden check to the dancing on the America, throwing many to the floor and mixing up the whole a.s.sembly into a confused ma.s.s. Heads were peering through the transoms of the staterooms and voices excitedly calling, "What's the matter?" John Briscoe, the watchman, came hurriedly through the cabin and said, "The States and the America have run into each other!"

The strains of music had ceased giving way to anxious inquiries on every side. The officers of the boat were running to and fro, giving orders, the negro cabin-boys adding to the chaos of the scene by loud and far-reaching cries.

On the roof, the Captain was giving orders to Jenkins: "Come ahead, outside!" Jenkins pulled the bell-rope and the brave engineer responded to the order. The boats had swung a short distance apart, the States rapidly sinking. Jenkins put the America up between the States and the sh.o.r.e. The States was carrying, as freight, a lot of barrels of coal-oil and gasoline, and in the collision these were smashed and the gasoline caught fire and in a few moments the sinking boat was all ablaze forward.

Jenkins groaned as he saw the fire, for the flames had already swept over upon the America, and he saw that his boat was also doomed. The bow of the America was almost touching the gravel, and believing that he had his boat safely on sh.o.r.e, Jenkins hurriedly left the pilot-house.

Charles Ditman, the other head pilot of the America, off watch, ran up into the pilot-house and catching the wheel, rang for reversed engines, and backed the boat out into the river, away from the States, but his action was miscalculated, for fire had broken out on the America, and great sheets of flame were leaping from her forward decks and guards.

Had the boat held the position in which Jenkins had placed her, all the pa.s.sengers might have escaped. Officers and crew were cutting away timbers with axes and dashing water upon the fire, but the great crackling tongue of flame licked up everything in its pathway. The heavens shone like a great, golden mirror under the spreading blaze. The burning oil flowed out over the water and flamed up across every avenue of escape. From out the black clouds of smoke, great sheets of flame burst through, rolled heavenward, and leaped down again like some devouring demon.

In such a transformation from pleasure to horror, who can discern the turning impulses within the human breast--of fear, of hope or of heroic self-control? To some, such a moment brings hopeless despair, or frantic terror, which will crush women and children and crowd them from places of safety, and oftimes in such an hour there comes to those of otherwise timid dispositions, a grandeur of heroism never evidencing itself before; some latent, slumbering power of soul that can only be awakened by some fearful test of human tragedy.

From the burning boats came wild cries, shrieks and screams. Some were kneeling in prayer, others cursing and bemoaning their plight. Dr.

Fannastock, a millionaire manufacturer from Philadelphia, clasped his beautiful daughter in his arms and cried, "I will give one hundred thousand dollars to the one who saves my child!" Both were lost. Ole Bull, the famous violinist, who had taken pa.s.sage at Louisville, stood quietly holding his violin case, calmly endeavoring to rea.s.sure the frightened women and children. The fire was fast approaching the rear cabin.

Shawn stood by Mrs. Alden's side, buckling a life-preserver around her body. "I'm trusting in G.o.d, Shawn," said the good woman, as a ghastly pallor overspread her face.

"Put a little of that trust in me," said Shawn as he bore her in his arms to the aft guards. Hurriedly pa.s.sing down the back stairs, he went through the engine-room to the rear end of the boat. They were lowering the trailing-yawl, which swung on a level with the floor of the lower cabin. As the yawl touched the water, a score of roustabouts started to leap into it.

"Stand back there!" shouted Shawn. "These women and children must go first."

Shawn lowered himself into the yawl, and catching Mrs. Alden with both hands, placed her on a seat in the stern of the boat. The fire was gaining headway and black volumes of smoke were rolling from the engine-room. Ole Bull, with a countenance pale, but n.o.ble in its expression of high courage, tenderly lowered the women and children into the boat. Shawn took each one and placed them as closely as possible on the seats.

"Get aboard," he said to the musician. Shawn pushed the yawl away from the burning boat, and seating himself with the oars, began the fight for the sh.o.r.e. Great sparks from the burning timbers fell about them. The cabin of the America toppled and fell with a crash, and as the burning portions struck the water the waves seemed to hiss as if seeking some struggling soul. The clamor had become deafening; men were leaping into the water and hoa.r.s.e cries rang out above the flames.

Shawn was bending to the oars, his long boating practice now standing him in good stead. The fumes from the burning oil were almost unbearable, threatening to suffocate the occupants of the yawl. Thirty yards away was the sh.o.r.e. The muscles in Shawn's arms were straining to their utmost. The heavily laden boat was almost dipping water.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Cabin of the America fell with a crash.]

"Sit steady, everybody!" cried Shawn. He turned and gazed toward the sh.o.r.e, and then put all his strength into the oars and ran the boat upon the sh.o.r.e. The occupants leaped out, giving joyful expressions for their safety. Shawn wrapped Mrs. Alden in his coat and carried her from the boat. On the bank was a log-cabin, from which a light shone. Hastening thither, he found the door open and a wood-fire burning in the fireplace, the family having gone to the scene of the disaster. Shawn placed Mrs. Alden in a chair and said, "Try to make the best of it until I return; I'm going back to save all I can."

"May G.o.d watch over you," sobbed Mrs. Alden.

Shawn sprang into the yawl and pushed out into the stream, and the work he did that night in saving struggling beings, is still talked about along that river. The boats were burning to the water's edge, and along the sh.o.r.e were sobs and groans from those who had reached land; cries of anguish from those who had lost their loved ones. Oh, the suffering of that winter night! Children with blistered limbs, crying for mothers whose voices were hushed beneath the stream; old men writhing in cruel pain, moaning in piteous tones; young men with folded arms hearing again the last sad cries of sweethearts as they were torn from them.

Shawn went back to the log-house and found Mrs. Alden in tears.

"Oh, my dear boy, if I were only strong enough to go among those suffering ones. G.o.d has been kind to give me strength to pa.s.s through this ordeal, but I am helpless to aid others."

Shawn stood by her chair; the frost had coated his dark hair, his cheeks seemed aflame from the exertion through which he had pa.s.sed.

The news of the disaster traveled fast.

The Alice Lee, coming up from Madison, stopped at all of the villages and took aboard doctors and those volunteering to help. At midnight they arrived at the scene of the terrible catastrophe. One of the first pa.s.sengers to step ash.o.r.e was Doctor Hissong, Brad Jackson just behind him. The old doctor had his saddle-bags and instrument case, and Brad carried a roll of bandages.

"I wonder if they're still alive, Brad?" said Doctor Hissong. Old Brad's heart was heavy with forebodings, but suddenly he gave vent to a yell that nearly upset the nerves of Doctor Hissong: "Fo' Gawd, doctah, yondah's Shawn!"

Shawn came up, and the old doctor threw his arms around him and cried for joy. "Is Mrs. Alden alive, Shawn?"

"All right," said Shawn, as he pointed toward the cabin. Doctor Hissong hastened to the cabin, and when he came up to Mrs. Alden he bent over her hand and kissed it with a beautiful reverence.

"Thank G.o.d for saving you," he said.

"And Shawn," gently added Mrs. Alden.

The survivors went aboard the Alice Lee and the injured and the dead were also taken on board. Doctor Hissong and the other doctors gave all their time toward alleviating the sufferings of the unfortunate ones.

When the boat reached Skarrow, it found Mrs. Alden's carriage at the wharf. Shawn and Brad carried her to it. She turned to Doctor Hissong and said, "Bring as many of the injured as you can to my home, and those in need of clothes or a.s.sistance in any way."

CHAPTER XVIII

The pa.s.sing of five years over a country village generally brings but little change in the existing conditions, but even in this prosaic atmosphere of easy going methods and action, the calendar marks some days and events of more than pa.s.sing notice.

Doctor Hissong had served his term in the Legislature, and proudly pointed to his record in pa.s.sing the bill for the construction of extra locks and dams on the Kentucky river.

Shawn was attending lectures at the Medical College in Louisville, Doctor Hissong acting as his preceptor and paying all the expenses necessary to his medical education, and now that he had been two years in school and was nearing the end of the course, Shawn felt that life held out a hope for him far beyond the dreams of his earlier years, and his breast swelled with grat.i.tude to those who had shown him such friendship and confidence; to the kind old doctor, who trusted him to his every word and deed, and to Mrs. Alden, who wrote him such beautiful and touching letters, reminding him of his duty to G.o.d and his fellow-men, and as he laid each one of her letters aside, it seemed that a newer strength and some higher motive filled his heart.

And there were other letters whose coming he anxiously awaited. The small, round handwriting on the envelope sent the glow of happiness into his eyes; the dear, sweet letters from Lallite, with marginal notes in every conceivable nook and corner of the page; the dainty tid-bits of love. When these letters came, Shawn took them and wandered down to the stream he loved so well. Lallite seemed a.s.sociated with the murmuring ripples, the tiny pebbles of the beach, and the shimmering bosom of the river. As he sat near the drowsy rumbling falls with her letter in his hand, it seemed that the river flowing past breathed some tender message from the village above and linked his heart into a closer and fonder memory of sweeter hours. And these letters laden with love's tender offerings, with here and there some whisperings of loneliness, some unlooked-for digression embracing the gossip of the neighborhood, or some delicious speculation as to his fidelity and love.

One day, just about three weeks before his graduation, as he sat at the dinner table, a servant came in and placed a telegram beside his plate.

Shawn opened the envelope and read, "Come home at once. Dave Budlong."

Something seemed to almost paralyze his heart-strings; some terrible apprehension took possession of him. His mother? Mrs. Alden? Lallite?

Through the long, dragging hours which followed until the evening mail-boat started up the river, he wandered in an agony of suspense.

The river had lost its charm, and the strains of music from the orchestra on the boat, fell on his ears in saddened tones. He walked the hurricane deck, and bent his gaze upon the distant river bends, as counting the dragging miles. At midnight the boat reached Skarrow. Dave Budlong, the old lawyer, was there to meet Shawn. Shawn grasped his hand and eagerly asked, "Tell me what is the matter!"

"Doc' Hissong is very low and has been calling for you ever since last night," said Budlong.