The Independence Day Horror at Killsbury Part 5

They came in overwhelming numbers--hand in hand with their fathers, mothers and teachers and with looks of eager interest on their young faces. They enjoyed themselves and each other's society as they never had before on their nation's birthday.

In fact the whole community seemed to have been taken suddenly off its feet ("out of the pit and miry clay" as the minister expressed it) and whirled up to a higher plane. He preached the best sermon of his life, if it could be called a sermon. It was short and to the point--well adapted to the higher plane on which he was standing with all the rest.

Among the good things that he said was that "our National Day should be a day of tender memories, regrets and righteous resolves--tender memories of those who had died that we might have a free country in which to live. Regrets that such death and b.l.o.o.d.y sacrifice should have been essential or seemed so--deep regrets that we did not have a court of arbitration in the pre-revolutionary times, such as we now have; and resolves to appeal to it and abide by its wise decisions for all future time. As to this community which has been so providentially turned G.o.d-ward, or lifted to a higher plane let it be further resolved that we will maintain that high position with our whole might and main--that we will go ahead in this good fight until all these devil-caught celebrations, life-destroying games and brutal amus.e.m.e.nts are done away with--or the devil in them cast out."

Ralph seconded the minister's resolution and it was carried amidst manifestations of great joy.

It was afterward averred that the church people really kissed each other according to the biblical instruction and it is true that many mothers kissed their boys and that Ralph kissed Ruth fervently, whereupon those who did not know of their marriage became suddenly aware of it and there was a general rush to kiss the bride and congratulate the bridegroom.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A FEAST IS BETTER THAN FIRECRACKERS.]

"And so they have got their wedding reception after all, Angeline," laughed Mr. Cornwallis, "and without any fussery or finery of the tiresome cut and dried pattern."

Then the bra.s.s band played a wedding march. Lawyer Rattlinger and President Hartling dropped in and made excellent, "higher plane" speeches--that is, speeches delightfully devoid of brutish war-sentiment and silly spread-eagleism--after which the Sunday-school children sang, "G.o.d Bless Our Native Land," with great vigor and were rewarded with a delicious finish of ice-cream and lemonade.

They went home as happy as larks, although their pockets were stuffed with nuts and candies instead of baneful firecrackers and deadly toy-pistols--a lively protest for their elders who have been too ready to say that a boy will not be satisfied with anything that does not possess the elements of noise and danger.

As Ralph surmised, the Schwarmers were making great preparations for the evening display. It was to be a splendid one. A select party had been invited from the city to witness it. They came on the afternoon train while the celebration was at its height; so their advent made no sensation. The shops were closed and the streets were quite deserted, greatly to Mr. Schwarmer's chagrin, for in making his plans for a brilliant gathering he had counted on a background of gaping people and corruscating fireworks. The deficiency was so noticeable that Mr. Alfonso Bombs, the rising Pyro-spectacle King of the city--the guest par excellence whom he wished to honor in an appropriate manner, exclaimed derisively: "How's this, Schwarmer? Have they exhausted your huge supply already and annihilated themselves in the performance? I thought this was your kingdom (so to speak) and we should be treated to a triumphal entry."

Schwarmer would rather have had the matter unnoticed, but it was not and he would not imperil his reputation for bluntness by keeping silence.

"You've been in England too long, Alfonso. You've forgotten that we don't have things of that sort as they do on the other side of the pond--that is, except in a way, you understand--an irregular sort of way. Consequently we never know just what will take place at a given point, you see--or just when a triumphal entry will materialize, so to speak, most a.s.suredly we don't. It's never been at all like this before; most a.s.suredly it hasn't. There have always been plenty of racket, plenty of fireworks and things of that sort from dawn to dark and fore and aft--variegated with a run-away horse and excitements of that kind; but the fact is a great moral wave has struck the town--a very large one. You see, even a moral wave is liable to be of very large dimensions, this side of the pond."

"Moral wave! Mr. Schwarmer," drawled one of the ladies. "Re-al-ly you must be joking. I have been educated to think it was an exceedingly immoral procedure not to celebrate our Independence Day in an appropriate and impressive manner."

"Impressive--yes truly impressive, dear lady; but you see it's too impressive sometimes--too largely impressive, as everything is apt to be in this country--that is if it's impressive at all, and now and then it impresses the wrong boy. Last year a lawyer's little boy had a finger broken and an alderman's boy had an eye hurt."

"Ah indeed! That was most unfortunate," replied Miss Drawling; "and they were people of consequence--that is, in this small community."

"Certainly! certainly--that is of the 'toad in the puddle style'" laughed Schwarmer. "So you see they called a meeting, a sort of grievance meeting and resolved not to let their children have any more fireworks. Now I believe they are having a pious celebration in the church grove or graveyard, I don't know which."

"Whew! oh whew!" whistled Mr. Bombs; "and so you have all that patriotic fervor on your hands! Shall we make a bonfire of it tomorrow as a starter to their lagging patriotism?"

"Not unless we go a-fishing," laughed Schwarmer, beckoning him aside. "You know how a thing of that kind turns when the sediments are all stirred up so to speak. A lot of cranks seized the fireworks and dumped them all into the river! They fancied they were our forefathers, I suppose, dumping the English tea into Boston Harbor--the knaves!"

"Zounds!" exclaimed Mr. Bombs. "That was a steep proceeding. How high do you suppose it will climb?"

"K. K.," replied Schwarmer. "Probably until the attention is called off by some new thing--very new and of more dazzling proportions--like those new inventions of yours--for instance."

"I understand! Good! Good! Nero is himself again. The siege of Yorktown! The Battle of Gettysburg! and Johnny Bull's Bellows to offset Pang's Eagle Screams! Eh, Schwarmer!" added Bombs in a low tone, giving him a sly poke in the ribs; "and money made out of them. That's better than giving away things to an ungrateful public. They can't throw Yorktown into the river if they should try. You are a trump, Schwarmer."

That ended the business for Schwarmer. There was nothing that pleased him better than being called a trump. He had not really intended to make a business proposition; but the shrewd would-be million-maker and son of a million-maker had construed it into that meaning, and it was understood to be an unwritten bargain between them.

Thereupon a great silence fell upon the spirit of Alfonso Bombs. He was resting in rich security--the kind of security he liked. The $10,000,000 that for a few brief moments seemed jeopardized would eventually flow into the great Bombs' coffers and the time would come when he would be more envied than the President of the United States; and his old-time victor would be beaten back to the place from whence he came.

"Bah!" the thin lips parted with an ironical smile, and the word of contempt came very near falling out. He congratulated himself on having checked it in time, for turning aside he saw a pair of clear but rather penetrating eyes looking directly at him, and a gentle voice asked: "What is it that pleases you so dreadfully, Mr. Bombs?"

It was the voice of Adelaide Schwarmer.

"O! Ah! Beg pardon, Miss Adelaide," said Mr. Bombs, in the flurried way which was usual with him when she asked him a sudden question, although she was only a chit of a girl, barely fifteen years of age.

"For the smile or the style of it, Mr. Bombs?"

"For both if need be; but where did you come from so suddenly? I didn't see you at the train."

"No, I wasn't there, I stopped to shake paws with--guess who?"

"The baker or candlestick-maker or some stick-at-home fellow. Most of the folks seem to have gone away."

"No, it was a dog--Ruth Cornwallis' dog. He's funny. He always wants to shake paws with me when I come. I haven't been here in two years, but he was on hand to shake all the same. I wonder why?"

"Can't say, Miss Adelaide. All I know is that dogs were on hand to bark at us when we got off from the train, quite a number of them and there was one that led the band."

"I wonder if it was Ruth's--he came running from that way. How did he look?"

"Can't say. They looked so much alike; but I think this one had a new white collar on, as though there had been a wedding in the family."

"O that's the one, Mr. Bombs. I wonder what made him bark at you?"

"None but a dog could tell, Miss Adelaide, and they are dumb."

"I wouldn't blame him if you had that dreadful smile on, Mr. Bombs."

"It wouldn't do any good to blame him anyhow, Miss Adelaide. Dogs know what they are about as well as folks."

"Don't you think it does any good to blame folks when they do wrong?"

"Not much, not much. Sometimes it does harm--almost always to contrary people."

"Well, I'm going to blame them any way every time I see them doing anything I know is wrong after this and take the chances. I'll be fifteen years old tomorrow."

"Better put it off until you are of age, Miss Adelaide."

"No, I will not, Mr. Bombs. You needn't smile that smile--I'm going to begin tomorrow at the very hour."

They walked slowly up the hill while the rest of the party dashed by them in the Schwarmer turnouts; but they did not speak to each other again until the party had gathered on the broad veranda to witness the evening's entertainment.

CHAPTER XIII.

ALFONSO BOMBS' PYROTECHNICS AND ADELAIDE SCHWARMER'S BLAME.

Mr. Bombs had brought with him some of the most elaborate and artistic works known to the trade. He had in mind works of a much grander and more instructive nature--works that would be truly great and high and far reaching (so he said); works that would be fit for the greatest king on earth to look at; that would startle and vivify the entire world and make the family name ill.u.s.trious. He had been collecting material for his works throughout his college course--historical events, especially the burning and storming of cities and such of the battles and conflicts as lent themselves readily to pyrotechnic delineation. He was busy experimenting with his material. He expected to have his first historical piece finished by this time next year, and he was happy to think he had secured so good a place for its representation.

He thought the people of the town would like it--this new and higher development of pyrotechnic art; but that it did not matter much whether they liked it or not. There would be a big crowd from the city of invited guests and others, for Schwarmer would be in it heart and soul as well as purse. He had given him efficient aid in getting his pieces ready for the evening.

"I wonder if those idiots down below will disdain to watch our performance," asked Bombs, as he was about to begin.

"Undoubtedly not--that is after they've spanked the children and sent them to bed," laughed Schwarmer. "That's the extent of the moral wave with that sort of people. It generally stops with the youngsters. After they are disposed of they'll sit on their door stones until the last flare, most a.s.suredly they will. Shall we send a searchlight after them?"

"No! no! Schwarmer. We can't afford to waste time and timber, hunting up such light-quenchers. We can't begin any lower down than 'mosaics' if we do full justice to 'Tourbillions'--that is get in all the inventions and improvements which I have made the last year."

"Go on, then, Alfonso. Let's have the improvements life-size and inventions too, all of them, though the heavens should fall and the nearest stars have to be knocked out, so to speak?"

"O papa! papa!" exclaimed Adelaide in a tone of reproach, "true stars are so much prettier than manufactured ones can possibly be, and they don't tire anybody to death."

Bombs winced but he went about his mosaics and was soon receiving flattering comments and profuse compliments from the guests.

"Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Bombs," said Miss Drawling. "Your mosaics are truly splendid, especially the designs of your own invention. They are quite beyond the artist's dream. I saw a great many pieces of mocaic work when I visited the galleries of Greece and Rome. They were supposed to be very wonderful but commend yours to me."

"Thanks and thanks for such kindly appreciation," replied Bombs, bending low and glancing aside at Adelaide. She had not retired, and was looking as though she were trying to be amused.

"I never cared much for mosaics," remarked Mrs. Shannon--"the real ones. They are so small and look so trifling and dull; but yours are bright and sizable and so charmingly changeable, Mr. Bombs."

Even while the shower of compliments was in process the many colored pieces gave a sudden toss up as though in disdain and came down in the form of letters--at least the letters were there dancing along on the dusky background and arranging themselves into words; and the words were "Welcome to Schwarmer Hill!"

It was p.r.o.nounced "a charming welcome."

"Written in all the colors of the rainbow and without the tiresome pen and ink," remarked Miss Drawling. It was a surprise even to the Schwarmers. They were highly delighted--at least Mr. and Mrs. Schwarmer. Miss Adelaide was inhaling the fragrance of a rose which she had brought in from the dewy garden. She said nothing; but the guests were enthusiastic in their praises--especially of the dexterity which had been displayed.

"A warm welcome, indeed," was the fiat of the college bred Miss Hannibal--"written in letters of fire; and such letters! So graceful and serpentine! and some of them quite new! Your own invention or modification without a doubt. Surely I have never seen anything in the shape of letters so perfectly unique!"

After the fiery welcome there was a fountain.

"Guests are supposed to be thirsty," remarked Dr. Orison. "That was a happy thought of yours, Mr. Bombs."

"And you must have patterned it after the famous old Italian fountains," added his wife--"the royal ones that were filled with wines of all kinds and colors and sparkle and spirit also. You are a genius, Mr. Bombs."

After that there were palm trees and Highland tartans, which were duly praised and commented upon.

Then came the sun--the last of the fixed fireworks. Then the rotating ones--the firewheels and finally the whole solar system. After this there was an intermission of half an hour during which the guests were regaled with rare wines, cakes and cigars.

Young Bombs shied away from the flattering spectators and went over to the secluded corner where Adelaide was sitting. He had a full goblet of wine in one hand and a choice Havana cigar in the other. He did not go because he was especially or magnetically drawn or wanted her society, but because he wanted no society. It had been something of a strain on his nerves to see that everything went off right and was effectively and harmoniously arranged, and the end was not yet. He was in no mood to listen to extravagant praise, and he knew where he would not get it.

Adelaide still had the rose in hand and was enjoying its beauty--bestowing loving looks and lips upon it as well and inhaling its fragrance.

"Nothing but a rose," said Bombs, after he had seated himself leisurely at her side and taken a sip of wine.

"Nothing but a rose," repeated Adelaide; "but a rose is a great deal, Mr. Bombs. It is beauty, fragrance and color--soft and restful color."

"O! I understand. I know you don't like fireworks, nor much of anything as yet--that is in the line of human invention."

"I like human inventions but I don't like inhuman ones that dazzle my eyes out. I think they would make me stone blind if I had to look at them long at a time."

Mr. Bombs looked at her fixedly while he continued to sip the wine. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were of the palest blue and her hair of the palest gold and wondered if there was anything in her physical makeup that made it naturally antagonistic to fiery display. "Did the doves hate fireworks and did the serpents like them?" was the question he asked himself.

"Perhaps you will like my new piece better," he remarked after he had finished the wine. "Tourbillions are a higher form of Pyro."

"When is your new piece going to be spoken?" laughed Adelaide.

"At the end, of course. You hadn't better retire--it might wake you up. It will be huge, Miss Adelaide."

"The bigger they are the more I don't like them, Mr. Bombs. The little ones tire me and the big ones scare me. You know how I screamed when that horrid London Pyro-King sent off his biggest rockets. They looked so dangerous--as though a terrible comet or electric storm were crashing into the earth to destroy it. Is your new piece dangerous, Mr. Bombs?"

"Not very, I hope, Miss Adelaide."

"You mean that it is a little dangerous, Mr. Bombs. Now I want to know if you don't think there are dangerous things enough in the world without inventing any more?"

"I think you are mightily like old Pythagoras, Miss Adelaide."

"Why so, Mr. Bombs?"

"He was said to be an 'a.s.siduous questioner', Miss Adelaide."

That ended it. He lighted his cigar and went out into the garden.

Soon afterwards the Tourbillions began to ascend; and the heavens, at least that portion of them that belonged to Schwarmer Hill, was soon filled with jets and coils of flame and stars of many magnitudes and colors. The spectators appeared to be highly delighted--all except Adelaide. She was growing tired. Her eyes burned, her head ached and she was thinking of going to her room, when suddenly the sky cleared and she heard the voice of Bombs announcing the closing piece--"his new contribution to Pyrotechnic art."

He said among other things that he had invented the piece especially for this occasion; that it had as yet no name; that he had left it for the ladies to name--that is, if it proved to be a success, or materialized as he expected it would. Otherwise it might better be nameless; for if it were mentioned at all it would be called "The light that failed." However he would say this much as to its composition and intention. It was intended to be a sort of cross between the girandole and the war-rocket. The girandole proper was getting to be rather monotonous, having been used as the end piece to pyro-spectacles for fifty years or more. He thought it was high time to have a new one. It was also necessary that the new one should be superior to the old one, both in size and splendor of coloring. There was no such thing as going backward in this matter. We might as well talk of the decadence of American inst.i.tutions or the annihilation of "The Fourth of July."

"As to its composition," continued Bombs, "I think you will believe after you have seen it, that it was no slight thing to get up a piece of this kind--so many points had to be considered. As an example there was the one thing of garniture. The ladies will appreciate this very readily. If I mistake not, a lady would think a week spent in selecting the proper tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs for her dress was a long time. What then would she say if I told her that I spent two months selecting the most effective garniture for my piece--two months to get it entirely out of the region of commonness--the region of gold and silver rain and of the 'Peac.o.c.k's Tail!'" The ladies waved their fans and clapped their hands, during which commotion Mr. Bombs disappeared from view.

While Adelaide was wondering where he had gone to so suddenly, a huge stream of serpentine fire issued from the Engine House. It grew larger and larger every moment. It lifted itself into monstrous coils. It hissed and sent forth tongues of flame. It vomited forth all sorts of hideous shapes, in all sorts of lurid colors, ever increasing in size and horror until no more could be conceived--then there was a loud report and a great globe of fire plunged downward and disappeared behind the brow of the hill!

The gentlemen applauded. Bombs had said in the beginning that the piece was a cross between a war rocket and a girandole and they supposed that the report and the ball of fire was the war part of it, but Adelaide knew that it was an accident and she thought of the gardener's cottage with a thrill of fear.

A moment afterwards a sheet of light and flame came streaming up from that direction, a woman's voice cried "Fire! Fire!" and a woman's form clad in white appeared on the fiery background. The spectators were startled for the moment; then they broke out in wild applause.

Dr. Orison said "It is ever thus after war."

The woman was standing still with her arms twisted about her body, as though in mortal agony. They thought she was there advisedly to represent the realistic finishing of Mr. Bombs' piece. But they were soon undeceived. Another cry rent the air.

"It's Mary, the gardener's wife! Help! help! Her house must be on fire."

It was the cry of Adelaide Schwarmer as she ran to her a.s.sistance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "FIRE, FIRE!" CRIED A VOICE.]

"O my baby! My baby!" moaned the poor woman stumbling along toward her.

"Where is it, where?" asked Adelaide.