The Earth Trembled Part 52

"THE TERROR BY NIGHT"

When Aun' Sheba saw that Mara, Mrs. Hunter, and Clancy were among friends, with a physician in attendance, she sat down by her daughter Sissy, and took little Vilet in her lap.

"I kin'er feel," she said, "dat ef de yearth is gwine ter swaller us, I'se like ter go down wid dis chile. Vilet shuah to go up ag'in, an' p'raps de Lawd ud say, 'You kin come too, Aun' Sheba.'"

The sound of her voice so far restored Uncle Sheba to his normal condition that he was able to creep on his hands and knees to a position just behind his wife, where he crouched as if she were a sort of general protection.

Vilet, roused at her grandmother's voice, looked around, and then asked in her plaintive voice, "Whar's daddy?"

"He's hep'n' put'n' out de fiahs, deah chile."

"My bref gittin' bery sho't, granny. I can't stay dis side ob de riber much longer; I wants ter see daddy 'fore I go."

"Po' chile and po' Kern," groaned Aun' Sheba. "We doesn't know whar he be, an' I'se 'feerd he couldn't lebe off puttin' out de fiahs."

From time to time Vilet wailed, "Daddy, come, come quick. I'se gwine fas, an' I wants to see you onst mo'."

Captain Bodine heard the cry, and, having rested himself a little, came to Aun' Sheba and asked, "Do you know where Kern is?"

"I doan, Ma.r.s.e Cap'n, but he mought be at dis nighest fiah."

"I'll see," said the veteran, halting away with the feeling that he must do something to divert his torturing thoughts.

Watson was soon pointed out to him, where with stern and quiet face he was carrying out his orders. When told that Vilet was near and calling for him, the veins came out on his forehead, and for a moment he was irresolute. Then he cried, "No, sah, I can't go. Fo' de Lawd, ef she die an' we all die I won't lebe my duty."

"You're a man," said Bodine, clapping him on the shoulder, "I will arrange this."

He went direct to Kern's superior officer and briefly told him the circ.u.mstances, then added, "I know these people. Watson deserves consideration. I will take his place. I can hold the hose as well as he, and will stand as near the fire as he does if you will order him to go to his dying child for a few minutes."

"In that case I can comply," said the officer. "Watson has behaved splendidly, and he'll come back soon."

The first thing Kern knew, the hose was taken from his hand, and he ordered to go and return within ten minutes. He hesitated. "Obey orders,"

was the stern command. Then he rushed away.

The plaintive cry, "Daddy, daddy," guided him, and Vilet was in his arms.

"Chile, deah chile!" was all he could say as he kissed the thin face again and again.

"Now my min's at res'," said the little girl, with a sigh of ineffable content. "You 'member, daddy--you says--'Yes, Vilet.'--I'se a-goin', daddy. De angels--is all ready--to tote me to Heben. I kin jes' heah dere wings--rustlin' roun' me. I was jes' waitin'--an' hol'n back--ter see you onst mo'. Good-by, moder--granny."

Then she feebly wound her little arms about Kern's neck and whispered, "Good-by, daddy, fer jes' a lil while. I'se wait neah de gate fer you _shuah_."

It would seem that she put all her remaining strength into this effort, for her head fell over on his shoulder; she quivered a moment, then was still. Kern could not repress one deep groan. He looked for a moment of agony into his child's face, kissed it, then placing her in Ann' Sheba's lap, departed as swiftly as he came. Sissy was so overcome as to be helpless.

"Your time wasn't up," said the veteran.

"Her time was up, Cap'n Bodine," Kern managed to reply, his face rigid with repressed emotion. "She die in my arms. G.o.d bless yo' fer you'se feelins fer a po' man."

"Watson, I do feel for you and with you. Our hearts are all breaking to-night. Take care of yourself. You have a wife and children still to live for." And Bodine halted back and seated himself by his cousin.

Alas! for thousands the words of Bodine were only too true. As they contemplated what had happened and what might occur at any moment, they felt that heavy, crushing pain, unlike all others, which gathers at the heart, overwhelming the spirit and threatening physical dissolution at one and the same time.

Yet such is the power of human affection and Christian faith, that they won many triumphs, even during that night of horrors. In Ella and the dying woman, whose head she pillowed on her breast, were examples of both.

The girl's heart was indeed pitiful and sympathetic, and the poor creature knew that it was, for in broken, gasping words she told her brief, pathetic story, so like that of many other women in the South. Once she was a happy girl at home on a small plantation, but father, brothers, and lover had all perished in the war. Home and mother had since been lost and she was fighting out life's long, weary battle when this final disaster brought the end. "Yes, kind lady, I reckon I'm dying: I hope so. I couldn't take care of myself any longer, and I'd rather join those who have gone on before me than trust to the charity of this world. I am very weary, very heavy laden, and I'd rather go to Him who said, 'Come to Me.'

If you can stay with me a little longer--I don't fear, but it's very sweet to have human kindness and company down into the dark valley."

Her words proved true. She evidently perished from internal injuries, for she soon ceased to gasp, and her head lay still against the bosom of the sobbing girl.

Dr. Devoe was present during the last moments, then gently relieved Ella from her lifeless burden, and supported her to her father on whose shoulder she shed those natural tears which soon bring relief to the hearts of the young. George Houghton and Jube carried the body to the place set apart for the dead. Then George returned to his father's side, but looked wistfully at Ella with an unspeakable longing to comfort her.

"I don't wonder, my boy," said Mr. Houghton, interpreting his thoughts.

"Go and speak to her."

George approached timidly, and said, "Miss Bodine."

She started, raised her head, and began to wipe her eyes.

"I--I--Well, I don't know what to say to make you understand how my father and I have sympathized with your brave--Well, you were so kind and patient with that poor woman. I wish I could do something for _you_, and I will,"

and he hastened away.

She called, "I don't need anything, Mr. Houghton. Indeed I do not. It would only distress me--" But he was out of hearing. "Oh," she moaned again on her father's shoulder, "why will he take risks?"

It was evident that Mr. Houghton shared her anxiety, for he divined his son's purpose, and looked with troubled face for his return. He soon came back carrying another mattress, pillows and blankets. Sam, compelled to leave the horses, followed with a basket of provisions. Ella was clothed in little besides a light wrapper, and had shivered more than once in the night air. George tried to induce her and Mrs. Bodine to accept of the mattress, but they asked as a favor that it might be placed under Mrs.

Hunter. He readily complied, saying he would get another for them.

At this moment came the ominous groan of the severe shock which occurred at about half-past two o'clock Wednesday morning. To the terrified people it was like the growl of some ravening beast rushing upon them, and a long wailing cry blended with the horrible roar as it swept under and over them, then died away in the northwest.

"Oh, Mr. Houghton," sobbed Ella, when her voice could be heard, "please don't go away--please don't go near a building again."

"George," added his father, almost sternly, "not with my consent will you leave me again till we learn more definitely what our fate is to be. If you were in the house when this shock occurred, you might have perished.

It is no longer a question of more or less comfort."

"I reckon not," said Mrs. Bodine. "It's a question of ever seeing the sun rise again. We may as well speak out what is in our minds, and get ready for a city not made with hands."

"I wish we were all as ready to go as you are, Cousin Sophy," Ella whispered.

"Well, my dear, I've more property in that city than in this wrecked town, and 'where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'" Then she added, "You'll be spared, dear child. You and your knight will see many happy years. G.o.d bless you both."

"Oh, cousin! it is such a comfort, even at this awful time, to see him, to know he is near, to think he came for--for us!"

"For you, dear little goose. He'd face earthquakes, volcanoes, tornadoes, cyclones, and even his father before this well-deserved shaking converted him, for your sake."

"Cousin," whispered the girl, "I'm so glad. Is it wrong to be glad at such a time?"

"Wrong to be glad when G.o.d loves you and a good man loves you? I reckon not. All the quakes that ever shook this crazy old earth are bagatelles compared with such facts."

"Oh, cousin, you are such a tower of strength and comfort!"