CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
I often sit back in my chair pondering about those old days, andthinking about them in a very different way to that in which I lookedupon them then. For to be quite frank, though something in me kepttugging me on, and seeming to say to me, "Be a man; go bravely on andsupport your poor lame, suffering father, who is going to risk his lifeto save the poor people around!" there was something else which wouldkeep suggesting that I might be killed, and that I should see the brightsunshine no more; that I was bidding farewell to everything; and I knowI felt as if I would have given the world to have heard him say, "Goback. It is too dangerous for you."
But he only hesitated a few moments, and then, as I have said, hegrasped my shoulder as if glad of my help, and went on into the greatdark place.
On thinking over these things, I often tell myself that though my fathermay not have been a hero--and I don't believe much in heroes myself--Iknow they do brave deeds sometimes; but I have often found that theyhave what an American friend from the North--Pennsylvania way--called agreat deal of human nature in them, and that sometimes when you come toknow them, you find that they are very much like looking-glasses. I donot mean because they pander to your vanity and show you your own face,but because they are all bright and shining and surrounded by gold thatis not solid, and have a side, generally kept close to the wall, whichis all rough wood, paint, and glue.
Let me see! Where have I got to? Ah, I remember. I said my father maynot have been a hero, but he had a great deal of that sterling stuff inhim which you find in really sterling people; and in addition, heperformed his brave acts in a quiet, unassuming way, so that oftenenough they passed unnoticed; and when he had finished, he sank backinto his perfectly simple life, and never marched about in metaphoricaluniform with a drawn sword, and men before him beating drums, andbanging cymbals, and blowing trumpets for the people to see, and hear,and say, "Oh, what a brave man!"
Some may think it was not the act of a brave, self-denying man to lethis young son go with him into that awful place to try and remove thepowder. I am not going to set up as his judge. He thought as a trueman thinks, as a soldier, one of the thousands of true men we have had,who, without a word, have set their teeth fast, and marched for theircountry's sake straight away to where cannons were belching forth theirterrible contents, and it has seemed as if the next step they took mustbe the last.
My father no doubt thought that as he was so weak he must have help, andthat it would be better for his son to die helping him to save the livesof hundreds, than to hang back at such a time as that, when we marchedstraight into the steam and smoke of the burning block-house.
I can remember now that, although overhead the logs were burning andsplitting and hissing in the fierce fire, and I knew that almost at anymoment the burning timbers might come crashing down upon us, or the firereach the little magazine of spare powder, the feeling of cowardice gaveplace to a strange sensation of exaltation, and I stood by my father,supporting him as he gave his orders firmly, the men responding with acheer, and groping their way boldly to the corner of the building beyondthe roughly-made rooms, where the good-sized place, half cellar, halfcloset, had been formed.
It was quite dark, and the men had to feel their way, while the air webreathed was suffocating, but we had to bear it.
My father, Morgan, and I were the first to reach the place, and thereand then seized the cumbrous door which was made on a slope, like ashutter, to slide sidewise, while just above was a small opening leadinginto a rough room beyond, between the magazine and the outer wall, inwhich was a sort of port-hole well closed and barred.
"Shall I get through and open that port, sir?" cried Morgan, his voicesounding muffled and hoarse. "It will give us fresh air and light."
"Yes, and perhaps flames and sparks," cried my father. "No, no, downwith you and hand out the powder-kegs. Form a line, men, and pass themalong to the door."
"Hurrah!" came in muffled tones; and directly after, from somewherebelow, Morgan's voice cried--
"Ready there! One!"
"Ready!--right!" cried a man by me, and a quick rustling sound told thatthe first powder-keg was being passed along.
"Ready!--two!" cried Morgan; and I pictured in my own mind Morgan downin the half cellar, handing out keg after keg, the men working eagerlyin the dark, as they passed the kegs along, and a cheer from the outsidereaching our ears, as we knew that the dangerous little barrels werebeing seized and borne to some place of safety. Not that in my own mindI could realise any place of safety in an open enclosure where sparksmight be falling from the burning building, and where, if the Indianscould only guess what was going on, flaming arrows would soon comeraining down.
It was a race with death within there, as I well knew; and as I stoodfast with my father's hand clutching my shoulder, and counted the kegsthat were handed out, my position, seemed to me the most painful of all.If I had been hard at work I should not have felt it so much, but I wasforced to be inert, and the sounds I heard as I stood breathing thatsuffocating air half maddened me.
Hissing that grew fiercer and fiercer as the fire licked up themoisture, sharp cracking explosions as the logs split, and must, I knew,be sending off bursts of flame and spark, and above all a deepfluttering roar that grew louder and louder till all at once there was acrash, a low crackling, and then, not two yards away from where I stood,a broad opening all glowing fire.
The men nearest to us uttered a yell, and there was the rush of feet,but my father's voice rose clear above all.
"Halt!" he cried; and discipline prevailed, as through the smoke I couldnow see all that was going on; Morgan still in the magazine, andHannibal standing ready to take the kegs he passed out, while the men,instead of being in line, had crowded together by the entrance.
"How many more, Morgan?" said my father, calmly, as he backed a littletoward the fiery opening at the end where I could feel the fierce glowon my back.
"Three more, sir. Shall we leave them and go?"
"Leave them? Come, my men, you can see what you are doing now.Morgan--Hannibal--the next keg."
It looked to be madness to bring out that keg into a low,earthen-floored room, one end of which was blazing furiously, with greattongues of fire darting toward us. But it was done; for Morgan stoopeddown and reappeared directly with a keg, which he handed to the greatblack, who took it quietly as if there was no danger, but only to haveit snatched excitedly away by the next man, who passed it along theline.
"Steady, men!" said my father. "Don't make danger by being excited anddropping one of those barrels."
Those moments seemed to me to be hours. The heat was terrific, and theback of my neck was scorching as the second and third kegs were handedout.
"Last," shouted Morgan, with a wild cry of thankfulness.
"Look again," said my father. "Stand fast all."
Morgan dropped down again, and as he did so there was another crashbehind us, a shower of sparks were literally shot into the place, andone burning ember fell right into the opening of the magazine, to befollowed as Morgan leaped out by a quick sputtering noise, and then thesmell of powder. There was a rush for the door, and we four were alone.
"Only a little loose powder lying about," said Morgan, huskily. "Thatwas the last. Look out, Master George--quick!"
The task was done, the place saved from hideous ruin by an explosion;and as the last man rushed from the place, the energy my father hadbrought to bear was ended, and I had just time, in response to Morgan'swarning, to save him from falling as he lurched forward.
But there was other help at hand, and we three bore him out faintingjust as a burst of flame, sparks, and burning embers filled the placewhere we had stood a minute before, and we emerged weak and staggering,bearing my father's insensible form out into the bright light shed bythe burning building.
"Bravely done! Bravely done!" we heard on all sides; and then there wasa burst of cheering.
But I hardly seemed to hear it,
as I was relieved by willing hands frommy share in the burden, and I only recollected then finding myselfkneeling beside a blanket under the rough canvas of our extemporisedtent, waiting until the surgeon had ended, when I panted forth--
"Is--is he very bad?"
"Very, my lad," said the surgeon as he rose, "but not bad enough for youto look like that. Come, cheer up; I won't let him die. We can't sparea man like your father."