CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
EIGHT YEARS LATER.
Fancy the horrors of that night! The great dam about which one of myuncles had expressed his doubts when we visited it the previous year,and of which he had spoken as our engine, had given way in the centre ofthe vast earthen wall like a railway embankment. A little crack hadgrown and grown--the trickling water that came through had run into astream, then into a river, and then a vast breach in the embankment wasmade, and a wall of water had rushed down the valley swiftly as a fasttrain, carrying destruction before it.
The ruin of that night is historical, and when after a few hours we madeour way up the valley, it was to see at every turn the devastation thathad been caused. Mills and houses had been swept away as if they hadbeen corks, strongly-built works with massive stone walls had crumbledaway like cardboard, and their machinery had been carried down by thegreat wave of water, stones, gravel, and mud.
Trees had been lifted up by their roots; rows of cottages cut in half;banks of the valley carved out, and for miles and miles, down in thebottom by the course of the little river, the face of the country waschanged. Here where a beautiful garden had stretched down to the streamwas a bed of gravel and sand; there where verdant meadows had lain weresheets of mud; and in hundreds of places trees, plants, and the veryearth had been swept clear away down to where there was only solid rock.
When we reached the great embankment the main part of the water wasgone, and in the middle there was the huge gap through which it hadescaped.
"Too much water for so frail a dam," said Uncle Jack sententiously."Boys, we must not bemoan our loss in the face of such a catastrophe asthis."
We had no right, for to us the flood, exhausted and spread by itseight-mile race, had been our saving, the greater part of ourdestruction being by fire, for which we should have recompense; whilefor the poor creatures who had been in an instant robbed of home and inmany cases of relatives, what recompense could there be!
The loss of life was frightful, and the scenes witnessed as first onepoor creature and then another was discovered buried in sand and mudafter being borne miles by the flood, are too painful to record.
Suffice it that the flood had swept down those eight miles of valley,doing incalculable damage, and leaving traces that remained for years.The whole of the loss was never known, and till then people were to agreat extent in ignorance of the power that water could exercise. Inmany cases we stood appalled at the changes made high up the valley, andthe manner in which masses of stonework had been swept along. Stone wasplentiful in the neighbourhood and much used in building, and whereverthe flood had come in contact with a building it was taken away bodily,to crumble up as it was borne along, and augment the power of the water,which became a wave charged with stones, masses of rock, and beams ofwood, ready to batter into nothingness every obstacle that stood in itsway.
"It seems impossible that all this could be done in a few minutes," saidUncle Dick.
"No, not when you think of the power of water," said Uncle Jack quietly."Think of how helpless one is when bathing, against an ordinary wave.Then think of that wave a million times the size, and tearing along avalley charged with _debris_, and racing at you as fast as a horse couldgallop."
We came back from the scene of desolation ready to make light of our owntrouble, and the way in which my uncles worked to help the sufferersdown in the lower part of the town gave the finishing touches to thework of many months.
There was so much trouble in the town and away up the valley, so muchsuffering to allay, that the firing of our works by the despicablescoundrels who worked in secret over these misdeeds became a verysecondary matter, and seemed to cause no excitement at all.
"But you must make a stir about this," said Mr Tomplin. "The villainswho did that deed must be brought to justice. The whole affair willhave to be investigated, and I'm afraid we shall have to begin byarresting that man of yours--the watcher Searby."
But all this was not done. Searby came and gave a good account ofhimself--how he had been deluded away, and then so beaten with sticksthat he was glad to crawl home; and he needed no words to prove that hehad suffered severely in our service.
"Let's set the prosecution aside for the present," said Uncle Jack, "andrepair damages. We can talk about that when the work is going again."
This advice was followed out, and the insurance company proving veryliberal, as soon as they were satisfied of the place having beendestroyed by fire, better and more available buildings soon occupied theposition of the old, the machinery was repaired, and in two months theworks were in full swing once more.
It might almost have been thought that the flood swept away the foulelement that originated the outrages which had disgraced the place. Bethat as it may, the burning of our works was almost the last of thesemad attempts to stop progress and intimidate those who wished to improveupon the old style of doing things.
I talked to Pannell and Stevens about the fire afterwards and abouthaving caught sight of three men landing from a raft and going downtowards the river just before the flood came.
But they both tightened their lips and shook their heads. They wouldsay nothing to the point.
Pannell was the more communicative of the two, but his remarks wererather enigmatical.
"Men jynes in things sometimes as they don't like, my lad. Look here,"he said, holding a glowing piece of steel upon his anvil and giving it atremendous thump. "See that? I give that bit o' steel a crack, and itwas a bad un, but I can't take that back, can I?"
"No, of course not, but you can hammer the steel into shape again."
"That's what some on us is trying to do, my lad, and best thing towardsdoing it is holding one's tongue."
That spring my father and mother came down, and that autumn I leftArrowfield and went to an engineering school for four years, after whichI went out with a celebrated engineer who was going to build some ironrailway bridges over one of the great Indian rivers.
I was out there four years more, and it was with no little pleasure thatI returned to the old country, and went down home, to find things verylittle changed.
Of course my uncles were eight years older, but it was singular howslightly they were altered. The alteration was somewhere else.
"By the way, Cob," said Uncle Dick, "I thought we wouldn't write aboutit at the time, and then it was forgotten; but just now, seeing youagain, all the old struggles came back. You remember the night of thefire?"
"Is it likely I could forget it?" I said.
"No, not very. But you remember going down to the works and finding nowatchman--no dog."
"What! Did you find out what became of poor old Jupiter?"
"Yes, poor fellow! The scoundrels drowned him."
"Oh!"
"Yes. We had to drain the dam and have the mud cleaned out three--fouryears ago, and we found his chain twisted round a great piece of ironand the collar still round some bones."
"The cowardly ruffians!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said Uncle Jack; "but that breed of workman seems to be dying outnow."
"And all those troubles," said Uncle Bob, "are over."
That afternoon I went down to the works, which seemed to have grownsmaller in my absence; but they were in full activity; and turning offto the new range of smithies I entered one where a great bald-headed manwith a grisly beard was hammering away at a piece of steel.
He did not look up as I entered, but growled out:
"I shall want noo model for them blades, Mester John, and sooner thebetter."
"Why, Pannell, old fellow!" I said.
He raised his head and stared at me.
"Why, what hev yow been doing to theeself, Mester John?" he said. "Thoulooks--thou looks--"
He stopped short, and the thought suddenly came to me that last time hesaw me I was a big boy, and that in eight years I had grown into abroad-shouldered man, six feet one high, and had a face bronzed by theIndian sun, and a great thick bear
d.
"Why, Pannell, don't you know me?"
He threw down the piece of steel he had been hammering, struck the anvila clanging blow with all his might, shouted "I'm blest!" and ran out ofthe smithy shouting:
"Hey! Hi, lads! Stivins--Gentles! The hull lot on yo'! Turn outhere! Hey! Hi! Here's Mester Jacob come back."
The men who had known me came running out, and those who had not knownme came to see what it all meant, and it meant really that the roughhonest fellows were heartily glad to see me.
But first they grouped about me and stared; then their lips spread, andthey laughed at me, staring the while as if I had been some great wildbeast or a curiosity.
"On'y to think o' this being him!" cried Pannell; and he stamped about,slapping first one knee and then the other, making his leather apronsound again.
"Yow'll let a mon shek hans wi' thee, lad?" cried Pannell. "Hey, that'shearty! On'y black steel," he cried in apology for the state of hishand.
Then I had to shake hands all round, and listen to the remarks made,while Gentles evidently looked on, but with his eyes screwed tight.
"Say a--look at his arms, lads," cried Stevens, who was as excited aseverybody. "He hev growed a big un. Why, he bets the three mesters'cross the showthers."
Then Pannell started a cheer, and so much fuss was made over me that Iwas glad to take refuge in the office, feeling quite ashamed.
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"Why, Cob, you had quite an ovation," said Uncle Bob.
"Yes, just because I have grown as big as my big uncles," I said in ahalf-vexed way.
"No," said Uncle Dick, "not for that, my lad. The men remember you asbeing a stout-hearted plucky boy who was always ready to crush down hisweakness, and fight in the cause of right."
"And who always treated them in a straightforward manly way," said UncleJack.
"What! Do you mean to say those men remember what I used to do?"
"Remember!" cried Uncle Bob; "why it is one of their staple talks abouthow you stood against the night birds who used to play us such cowards'tricks. Why, Gentles remains _Trappy_ Gentles to this day."
"And bears no malice?" I said.
"Malice! Not a bit. He's one of our most trusty men."
"Don't say that, Bob," said Uncle Jack. "We haven't a man who wouldn'tfight for us to the end."
"Not one," said Uncle Dick. "You worked wonders with them, Cob, whenyou were here."
"Let's see, uncles," I said; "I've been away eight years."
"Yes," they said.
"Well, I haven't learned yet what it is not to be modest, and I hope Inever shall."
"What do you mean?" said Uncle Dick.
"What do I mean!" I said. "Why, what did I do but what you three dearold fellows taught me? Eh?"
There was a silence in the office for a few minutes. No; only a pauseas to words, for wheels were turning, blades shrieking, water splashing,huge hammers thudding, and there was the hiss and whirr of steam-spedmachines, added since I went away, for "Russell's," as the men calledour works, was fast becoming one of the most prosperous of the smallbusinesses in our town.
Then Uncle Dick spoke gravely, and said: "Cob, there are boys who willbe taught, and boys whom people try to teach and never seem to move.Now you--"
No, I cannot set down what he said, for I profess to be modest still. Imust leave off sometime, so it shall be here.
THE END.
Patience Wins: War in the Works Page 27