The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 20 April 1911, Page 699

The Storyteller

COLBY'S CRUX

Just as Colby Hunt turned into his own' quiet, treelined street, —district of pretty cottages— suddenly stopped short. It was at the close of an autumn day. In the -bare branches a chill wind whispered sadly. About Colby's feet twirled crinkled brown leaves. Other leaves, crisp and tawny, struck against his face and crossed in front of his preoccupied eyes. Rays from an arc lamp showed through the restless boughs and quivered upon the pavement. Colby's right hand —a big, gentle, warm, hairy handgrasped the lapel of his coat. Its mate hung relaxed at his side. His head was slightly lifted and turned, his eyes and mouth faintly puckering. It was a rugged old face and a rugge dold figure. The clothes were navy blue, and there were brass buttons on the sleeves. The big head covered with a blunt-peaked cap, also navy blue. The trousers were just a bit baggy, and the whole suit, though smartly brushed, showed long —seemed almost threadbare. The shirt was of thick flannel, gray-green, relieved by a dash of scarlet at the throat. Colby Hunt was the oldest fireman in the department. Nobody knew exactly how old he was; this was one of his zealously guarded secrets. But his hair, uncommonly bristly and dense, was nearly snow-white. Colby kept it cut almost to the scalp. ' Otherwise,' he said to himself, ' I should be a patriarch, and what use would they have for a patriarch in the hook and ladder company?' Often there had been talk of retiring Colby on a pension, the commissioners debating the question officially. But none of them, nor any of his comrades, ever had ventured to speak of the matter to him. 'After all,' they would say, actually coming to grips with the subject, ' it's only Colby's hair and skin that are old.' Motionless there amid the spinning leaves and th? trembling light, he certainly looked as if, met by a crucial test in the path of his hazardous duties, he would want a deal of beating. His face seemed chiselled out of a block of native decisionchiselled out with a chisel that had left its marks deep across his forehead and about his mouth. All his sturdy figurethere was about six feet of it — peared instinct with nervous energy; yet not by any means did Colby look like a boy. He looked quite sixty—looked as if he might be the father of a big family (as, indeed, he was), and might have a group of grandchildren (as, indeed, he had). Listening intently for a moment, he turned round and retraced his steps to the corner. It was as he thought; his name had been called from far down the intersecting street. A brother fireman was running after him, from the hook and ladder station, and Colby himself at ones broke into a run. ' What's up, Dan ' ' The chief's at the station and wants to see you a minute before you go to supper.' Colby shot an inquiring glance into Dan's eyes, dropped his head, and walked back to the station silently. Chief Hubbard met him at the door and called him into a little side room where they sat down by a grate fire. Assistant-Chief Arnold, slender and dark-eyed, was there too, but ho only nodded to Colby and smiled. ' Chilly night, Colby,' said Hubbard, filling his pipe. 'So it is, chief. ' I suppose we haven's long to wait for snow.' 'Snow?' echoed the official genially. Makes me think of the fire at old Judge Alder's house that Christmas morning when you slid off the gable roof on a ton or two of it and fell twenty-eight feet into the conservatory.' ' And it didn't hurt me a bit,' laughed Colby. ' But I remember a night-fire in snowy zero weather when . I did suffer some, and you as well, chief. You weren't chief then, you were a nozzle-mate of mine. Seven hours on end, wasn't it, we fought to keep the lumber-yard blaze from eating its way into the main part of the town?' The blowing snow, and the cold, weren't they frightful? Ice all over the nozzle, and all over us, and all over everything —a skating rink! I forget just how long we were in the hospital.' The chief's face shone and his rough face wrinkled. ' It's a hard life, Colby.' I like it. Do you know, chief, my father used to hope I'd be a lawyer? Idle dream! I could not breathe in a law office. Action and God's air for me. Why, chief, when the horses are galloping, the gongs clanging, and the people rushing breathless through the streets — a time when the slowest pulse quickens and the oldest of us forgets his years!' Hubbard cleared his throat, moved his heavy feet uneasily, and looked more steadily at the veteran hook-and-ladder man. 'Colby, you know I like you.' 'I quite believe it, chief.' 1 You know it. You're the best-beloved man in the department. All of you that isn't honor is courage. By rights you would be in my place to-night.'

No, chief, no.' | ' Yes, you would. Your education is exceptional. You know everything worth knowing about tire-fighting —know it by experience. What have you not done, and brilliantly done, in the service? You'd have been chief years ago but for your habitual shrinking from promotion. You're a shining example of modest merit that has waited for its own in vain. Now — served the public long enough.' ■ Colby grew a little pale. 'You're too old to climb ladders, scale shaky walls, and battle with smoke and flames.' The white head sank, the blue eyes sought the Are. ' We propose to give you a thrice honorable discharge, a good pension, and let you rest. What do you say to it?' Colby's eyes twitched. ' I hadn't supposed I was as old as that,' he said, slowly. ' I really don't know, chief, what to say to it.' He got up and turned away. 'l'll think it over. Thank you. Good night!' * 'Don't take it so to heart, Colby; it's no calamity. There are things about it I like.' 'And I too, papa, decidedly. You're net old, and you are a wonderful fireman. You've proved it scores of times, and Mr. Hubbard was quite right when he said you ought to have been chief years ago. But don't you worry, papa. Will and Alfred and Tom and all the rest of us will stand by you and mother.' Colby, gloomily thoughtful, was at the head of his table, eating his belated supper. On his right was his sweet-faced old wife in her silver-rimmed spectacles. On his left was Maggie, his baby, aged sixteen, and the especial joy of his latter life. The mother, genuinely concerned, :' was yet perfectly calm. The daughter's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were flashing. ' I s'pose they're right,' said Colby, munching his food, his eyes upon his plate. 'Papa, the chief's right; you're always too meek. One can't be too meek in this world and get on.' ' That's not Christian, Maggie,' said the mother. ' " Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.'" Maggie tossed her head. ' Nobody can deny that I'm sixty or more,' said Colby. ' My eldest boy is engine-driver of the Empire Express, and everyone knows the company wouldn't have a youngster on that job. Besides, look at my grandchildren 1 Haven't they been seen often enough scampering into the hook-and-ladder station with their caps and aprons full of big red apples for me? All the same, I'm as spry as ever 1 was. ] don't want any pension. I can't bear the thought of knocking; off for good.' ' Well, papa,' said Maggie, somewhat wearily, winding her arms about his neck, ' I must go.' 'Go?'

'Yes; we're working overtime at the big shop just now. The holiday trade is in full swing. The whole staff will be on duty until eleven to-night. I'll come home by the half-past eleven car.' Colby drew Maggie's head down till her hair hid his broad visage. ' Maggie, I'm mighty proud of my children —ten of them, all living, and not a bad one in the lot. You, the baby, always have been our pet. As a child, you were perpetually under the weather, though you don't look it now. I've pushed you for miles in your baby-carriage myself. Do you remember?' Your eyes, looking up at me, were so blue and so beautiful. Your hair was exactly like your mother's —some pretty shade between gold and brown. In spite of your ills, I've never known a babe that smiled so much. Whoever else gets old, may the Lord keep our baby young!' Maggie slipped a plump hand over her father's moul?r, quickly, kissed both her parents, and was gone. ' I must be off, too, mother,' said Colby, wiping his lips, pushing back and reaching for his cap. 'Now, Colby, don't worry to-night. Remember what the Psalmist says: "I have been young, and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread." ' His pipe alight, Colby stepped out into the fresh night. Strong emotions rolled through his consciousness. Ho seemed to be losing his hold upon the simple feeling, the simple point of view, that had characterised his career. He felt just at the point where he ought to count more than he ever had counted before. For life to turn upon him like this, after he. had worked so long and so loyally ; v ' looks like playing it low down,'- he muttered, and a certain outraged majesty transformed his whole look and manner. All the firemen except. Dan had gone up to their bunks. Dan, on watch, was seated at a small table, under a gaslight, playing solitaire. Brass-mounted harness yawned high on either side of the pole of the hook-and-ladder truck. The big dapple-grays were champing their food directly in the rear. The black cat was asleep on a straight-backed, wooden-bottomed chair. The old yellow station dog, Jack, was curled up on the boards at the lone card-player's feet. ' Good-night, Dan,' said Colby, knocking the ashes from his pipe and mounting the stairs. ' Won't you have a game before turning in ?' called Dan. - '■ Not to-night.'

Quickly and curiously Dan looked after the towering figure. Certainly that was not Colby Hunt's familiar voice, and Dan had no recollection of so scant a formality in all the veteran's previous behaviour. V , ''V.;,> '*''■■' \ / ,-/".,' .;. *"' ' ; . Ten o'clock. ~ .. Faintly, from afar, came the strokes of the giant bell in the court-house tower. •_ % Dan, dozing, was barely conscious of the sounds, when suddenly they seemed to grow infinitely louder. He sprang to his feet. The electric hammer just above his head was falling with a measured resonance upon the alarm-gong. The automatic doors at the rear had swung open, "and the dapple-greys were lumbering to their places under the elevated harness. Already Colby Hunt had slipped into bis service boots and was rapidly buckling them about his thighs. To right and left his comrades were a-leap. All the station hummed with the noise of swift preparation—a ponderous machine abruptly thrown into strenuous motion. As he hastened Colby was counting the strokes of the electric hammer. He knew the location of every alarm-box in the city. ' Onetwo ! —twofour———seven V Twenty-seven. Colby thrust the last button into place, sprang across the sleeping-room, and shot down the exit pole into the hook-and-ladder room. Men , had gone before him, men were swiftly following, some throwing on their water-proofs,, some reaching for their helmets. The horses stood beneath the harness, champing their* bits, eyes and nostrils distended, feet beating a rumbling tattoo. The harness fell. The hames clicked round the collars. The great front doors swung outward, and the long, red truck, lined on either side with helmetted men, thundered into the street, hoofs and wheels smiting fire. Straight north along the radiant boulevard sped those mettled runners. So flat did they lie to their work, so smoothly did they fly, that twin-spheres might almost have rested in the dimples of their backs. Colby Hunt, on the seat by the driver's side, under his feet the warning-bell pouring its clangor into the night, leaned sharply forward, gazing straight ahead, his white hair showing with great distinctness beneath the dark gloss of his helmet. At the Four's reel-houjse a dying note echoed through vacant chambers— last stroke of the second al&rm. At the Two's engine-house, a hundred yards further on, rang out a fresh staccato. Colby glanced at his comrades, his comrades at him. In quick succession three alarmsnot a schoolboy in the city but could have told the meaning of that. And from Twenty-seven ! Twenty-seven was the heart of the mercantile quarter. There were the towering, gleaming buildings. There were the holiday throngs, elbowing, jostling, parcel-laden, happy, crowding the streets, packing the shopsmen, women, and children in mighty, eddying pools, and in endless, turgid streams. There, too, were the salespeople— of themof both sexes, young and old, patient, weary, working overtime. Somewhere in that vast, unresting agglomerationalready the on-rushing hook-and-laddermen caught its muffled roar—was the bright particular star of Colby Hunt's domestic firmament—-Maggie, his baby. Maggie had said she would come home on the half-past eleven car, and now it was a few minutes past ten. In the flitting light Colby's corrugated face was like an iron mask. Swinging out of the boulevard into the chief shopping thoroughfare, the driver of the hook-and-ladder truck brought his team, rearing, to a full stop. From wall to wall the street was choked with people, and the air was a-wave with shrill babble, hoarse cries, and sobbing. Here and there a man gesticulated and cursed, a woman screamed and hurled herself impotently against the human embargo. Other persons, except when moved by the swaying of the mass, stood still, white and mute. Scores of police, shouting, pulling people back, pressing them on, crushing them to either sidevainly strove to make a passage through the crowd. In an ecstasy of perturbation, the hook-and-ladder horses were yet on their hindlegs, when every light —the arc-lamps in the street, the luminous globes in the —suddenly failed. With tho failure— the engulphing gloom, fell a hush as brief as it was instant and profound. Ahead and upward appeared a tongue-like object. Darting into, the street, it seemed thirstily, pantingly to lick up the darkness. Where the darkness had been, bold in the lighted space shone a row of huge gilt letters—'Moultrie's.' Moultrie's was a household word, a miracle wrought by wit, toil, and time. Moultrie's was vast, varied, brilliant, enchanting. Moultrie's was housed in one of the noblest commercial structures of the world—a trade palace, big and beautiful beyond the palaces of reverie. And Moultrie's was wondrously equipped ■; for securityfire buckets, hose, ; chemical extinguishers 'H at every turn. Further, Moultrie's had its own trained fire brigade. Still further, Moultrie's was fire-proof. Yet a red tongue was licking up the darkness, and those great gilt letters were' saying: .1; 'Moultrie's is on fire.' ,

Colby Hunt's prophetic soul had not played him false. At the first stroke* of the electric hammer, down at the hook-and-ladder station, he had. said to himself, 'Moultrie's.' Possibly this was because, when the hammer fell,

he was dreaming of Maggie, and Maggie worked on a high floor of that high building of Moultrie's. At any rate., the idea was now an irresolvable fact, before him. Other red tongues, as if desert-parched, were licking up the darkness. The ruby glare was everywhere—on the sky, on the sign-strewn walls, on the wires and the poles and the people.; Moultrie's main entrance doors were flung wide open, and a mixed throng was storming through them. The broad plate-glass windows were also open —crashed outward-and the frantic exodus was packing the crowd in the street as a hydraulic press. Scores of figures were appearing on the fire escapes, moving quickly, but dazedly, like sleep-walkers fleeing from some 'stupefying vision. One sweeping glance and Colby Hunt had noted all — the seat of the fire, the fire's demoniac fierceness, the immovable pack in the street, the congested fire-escapes. Moreover, higher up he had caught sight of a line of distracted, ashen facesgirls' facesin groups. Each group was at a window, leaning over the sill, staring into the lurid gulf below. The girls were not crying— making a soundjust clinging closely to one another and staring down numbly. Colby's children— Maggie—more than rooted in his being; on its tender side, they were his being. Was the enemy he had fought all his life about to make the first gap in this love-linked company? Two panther-like bounds, and Colby, just touching the pavement, was on the shoulders massed before the hook-and-ladder horses. With a startled outcry the men beneath him swayed, staggered, and struggled apart. But Colby had not paused; he had plunged desperately ahead, scrambling on all-fours. Now he was on his feet, striding forward, reeling. Now he was down again, wriggling and floundering like a great fish stranded. Once more he was up, stepping upon a back, a shoulder, a hatted head. From under his boots rose grating criescries of alarm, rage, pain—as metal shrieks when wheels crash over it. Colby seemed battling with twisting, rolling, dipping logs in a whirlpool. But finally he was upright, balanced, speeding unchecked, his footing bending, as thin ice bends beneath a skater's feet. Out of the red-lit night crashed a weld of exultant voices; a helmetted figure had cleared the blockade! But what of this? What could human power avail in such a strait? Growing warmth on his cheeks, low thunder in his ears, Colby found himself among clattering hoofs and quivering flanks. Mounted police were at. close quarters with the multitude. Before their merciless charges the mass had begun to move. People were still streaming down the fire-escapes. Engines, hose-carts, and chemical waggons were crowding up. Dodging, edging, fighting, Colby reached the door of Moultrie's. Lines of hose, half buried in charred, ill-smelling slush, lay across the vacant thresholds. Split by ' fleeing feet, here and there the hose emitted thin, beaded streams. Even as Colby looked, from within came a heavy report, followed by a blinding outrush of smoke and embers. Firemen burst forth headlong. They had abandoned their hose-linos, lost their helmets, were blistered, singed, and covered with ashes, v In a vague medley of sounds Colby made out: 'A wall has fallenthe masonrv of the doomed rotunda is down Ten firemen are buried!' Smudged and bleeding, Assistant-Chief Arnold reeled through the blackened doorway. 'Colby'-Arnold's voice sounded like the rustle of dried husks'l'm hurt, and Chief—Hubbard'sdead!' Colby felt as if a dagger had pierced his vitals. Chief Hubbard dead, Assistant Chief Arnold fainting at his feet, and the centre of Moultrie's becoming a roaring furnace! Moreover, the flames were running out right and left, the buildings across the street were heating, fiery particles were reaching the upper airthe city was menaced! If the lower floors of Moultrie's were clear of people, -on the higher floors were, the working girls: their faces were still at the windows. Easing Arnold to the pavement, Colby swung round. The blockade had been broken, the crowd back and roped away at either ends. Except that early, ill-fated company, the entire fire department was there —every wheel, every foot of hose, v every ladder, every roan. Imposing, indeed, was the array, but Colby stood'aghast. Not a reel was turning, not. a ladder rising, not a muscle moving consternation was king! Hiss and crackle and roar, and then such a cry as breaks from a bugle's throat in the crisis of a battle. ' Man the " extensions " ! ' The machine-laddermen jumped like galvanometric needles. i The scalers to those high windows.' Silhouetted against the glare behind him, Colby Hunt faced the fire-fighters massed in the street. His head was back, his brows lifted, his eyes blazing, his hands raised and spread in the air. 'Volunteers to the front Twenty men sprang forward. ' Bring out your comrades—if you can J' Rattle of hand-ladders, grind of machinery, and the street bristling like a mast-studded harbor. Reels One and Two to the rear and the Four's laddermen to their support! Chemical Six to the east, Chemical Seven to the west! Reels Three and Four to the buildings opposite! Reels Six and Eight to the right, Reels Ten and Twelve to the left! Moultrie's is doomed! Look to the city!'

Into this turbulent conflux —this single big-issue moment, Colby's life-zeal as a fireman, his long experience with every unit of the service, poured its resistless resultant. Bit by bit, falling like thunderbolts, his command.* crumpled away the deadlock in the street. More rapidly than it can be portrayed, bewildered inaction quickened and differentiated into bewildering action. One extension ladder after another shot its swaying length through the gathering smoke. From window to window leaped the scaling ladders, until the topmast storeys were compassed. Up and down with astonishing agility, moved tight-lipped firemen, Cringing out the half-suffocated, the helpless ones. Patiently the others were waiting. Countless streams were storming and hissing, filling the air "ith spray, clustered drops and broken shafts of water. The roadway was a ruffled, glistening sheet, and the gutters gurgled with a blackened flood. Stationary only long enough to shout out the bold lines of his policy, Colby had become a remorseless executive. His grey head seemed to be everywhere; and everywhereencouraged, counselling, commanding—his deep cry threw skill, tenacity, and desperate valor into the conflict. The historical Colby Hunt was not there; in his person was a pale, grim, imperious man, keen-sighted, coldly methodical, yet in every artery athrob with passionate purpose. Scan the huge, dishevelled figure! His helmet is thrust back, seered and battered; his waterproofs are burnt and torn; his face and hands are peeling. And all the while a dull, agony gnaws at his heart. 'Tom, seen Maggie?' 'Frank, know whether m» girl is out?' ' Andy, " a « Maggie with that lot?' ' I say, Dan, any word of Maggie?' And always the answer was the same. Thy crowd was so large, the rush to terrific, the confusion so great, that nobody could be sure; certainly nobody had seen the veteran's daughter. On a sudden Colby appeared, moving rapidly up an extension ladder. A sponge was over his mouth and nose, and at his heels were other firemen similarly equipped. The lire-escapes were empty, the white-hot iron, at the loner floors, was writhing into wild contortions. Scorching haze blinded Corby to any faces that might remain at the windows. Half-way up the ladder burnt his hands; apparently anything done had to be done in almost a moment. Intermittently visible to the crowds below and on neighboring roofs, the climbers reached the front of the building, mounting two scaling ladders, and entered the top storeys. Flames were roaring up stairways and lift ways, producing a choking whirl. At the first stepColby touched the fallen figure of a girl. He caught her up, glanced at her face, and passed her back. So a Second, a third, a dozen. Hands outstretched, from room to room, he groped and stumbled, crossing and re-crossing his tortuous tracks. So painful were seeing and breathing that, every yard of the way was a battle. Often Colby's followers lost sight of him entirely, but ever ahead,'through the gloom above the uproar— out his poignantly .emotional call, 'Maggie!' 'Maggie!' 'Maggie'!' ' Colby !' Dan had seized the old fireman about the waist and was violently hauling him back. I Quick, Colby, the ladders are firing half-way down.-' 'Dan,' said the veteran, going doggedly, 'no trace of her 41, ' l No s. b , " t s,ie must be out. I think everybody's out. All the girls would have fled to this floor, and we've been over it from end to end.' In a twinkling the two firemen, last of the rescue party, dropped down the scalers, and flashed alon- the smoking extension-ladder to the ground. As Colby's foot touched the pavement he heard his name anxiously shouted and saw a fireman with a blistered and troubled face rushing towards him, pushing his comrades aside as he ran. Ihe man spoke with difficulty, yet rapidly. ' Maggie's in the far corner, on the next-to-the-top floor. I found her there with two other girls, all huddled into the window. Maggie told me to take the others first saying she was a fireman's daughter. Comin' down with the second girl, my ladder caught fire above me and tho upper half burnt off and fell into the street.' ' 1 ii All iat once the glare-lit multitude saw the hook-and-ladder horses start at a mad gallop for the corner of the blazing skeleton of Moultrie's. There, the waggon brou-.-nt to a quick stand, the main ladder rose until it loomed high in the middle of the street, its polished-rungs at right angles with the faces of the opposite buildings Tt did not stand quite perpendicularly; the angle was some eighty degrees. Up this ladder hurried a grey-headed fireman, climbing with all his strength. About one of his shoulders hung a coil of life-line, its gleamino- meta* clasp dangling as he climbed. ' White and aim, bent on one last desperate effort to save his child, Colby paused at tho ladder's giddy point and glanced upward.' (To be concluded.)