“Anything? Any answer?” asked Beatrice, laying a hand upon his shoulder—a hand that trembled.
He shook his head in negation. Again he switched the roaring current on; again he hurled out into ether his cry of warning and distress, of hope, of invitation—the last lone call of man to man—of the last New Yorker to any other human being who, by the merest chance, might possibly hear him in the wreck of other cities, other lands. “S. O. S.!” crackled the green flame. “S. O. S.! S. O. S.!—”
Thus came night, fully, as they waited, as they called and listened; as, together there in that tiny structure on the roof of the tremendous ruin, they swept the heavens and the earth with their wild call—in vain.
Half an hour passed and still the engineer, grim as death, whirled the chained lightnings out and away.
“Nothing yet?” cried Beatrice at last, unable to keep silence any longer. “Are you quite sure you can’t—”
The question was not finished.
For suddenly, far down below them, as though buried in the entrails of the earth, shuddered a stifled, booming roar.
Through every rotten beam and fiber the vast wreck of the building vibrated. Some wall or other, somewhere, crumbled and went crashing down with a long, deep droning thunder that ended in a sliding diminuendo of noise.
“The boiler!” shouted Stern.
Off he flung the head-piece. He leaped up; he seized the girl.
Out of the place he dragged her. She screamed as a huge weight from high aloft on the tower smashed bellowing through the roof, and with a shower of stones ripped its way down through the rubbish of the floors below, as easily as a bullet would pierce a newspaper.
The crash sent them recoiling. The whole roof shook and trembled like honey-combed ice in a spring thaw.
Down below, something rumbled, jarred, and came to rest.
Both of them expected nothing but that the entire structure would collapse like a card-house and shatter down in ruins that would be their death.
But though it swayed and quivered, as in the grasp of an earthquake, it held.
Stern circled Beatrice with his arm.
“Courage, now! Steady now, steady!” cried he.
The grinding, the booming of down-hurled stones and walls died away; the echoes ceased. A wind-whipped cloud of steam and smoke burst up, fanlike, beyond the edge of the roof. It bellied away, dim in the night, upon the stiff northerly breeze.
“Fire?” ventured the girl.
“No! Nothing to burn. But come, come; let’s get out o’ this anyhow. There’s nothing doing, any more. All through! Too much risk staying up here, now.”
Silent and dejected, they made their cautious way over the shaken roof. They walked with the greatest circumspection, to avoid falling through some new hole or freshly opened crevasse.
To Stern, especially, this accident was bitter. After nearly a fortnight’s exhausting toil, the miserable fiasco was maddening.
“Look!” suddenly exclaimed the engineer, pointing. A vast, gaping cañon of blackness opened at their very feet—a yawning gash forty feet long and ten or twelve broad, with roughly jagged edges, leading down into unfathomed depths below.
Stern gazed at it, puzzled, a moment, then peered up into the darkness above.
“H-m!” said he. “One of the half-ton hands of the big clock up there has just taken a drop, that’s all. One drop too much, I call it. Now if we—or our rooms—had just happened to be underneath? Some excitement, eh?”
They circled the opening and approached the tower wall. Stern picked up the rough ladder, which had been shaken down from its place, and once more set it to the window through which they were to enter.
But even as Beatrice put her foot on the first rung, she started with a cry. Stern felt the grip of her trembling hand on his arm.
“What is it?” exclaimed he.
“Look! Look!”
Immobile with astonishment and fear, she stood pointing out and away, to westward, toward the Hudson.
Stern’s eyes followed her hand.
He tried to cry out, but only stammered some broken, unintelligible thing.
There, very far away and very small, yet clearly visible in swarms upon the inky-black expanse of waters, a hundred, a thousand little points of light were moving.
CHAPTER XV
PORTENTS OF WAR
Stern and Beatrice stood there a few seconds at the foot of the ladder, speechless, utterly at a loss for any words to voice the turmoil of confused thoughts awakened by this inexplicable apparition.
But all at once the girl, with a wordless cry, sank on her knees beside the vast looming bulk of the tower. She covered her face with both hands, and through her fingers the tears of joy began to flow.
“Saved—oh, we’re saved!” cried she. “There are people—and they’re coming for us!”
Stern glanced down at her, an inscrutable expression on his face, which had grown hard and set and ugly. His lips moved, as though he were saying something to himself; but no sound escaped them.
Then, quite suddenly, he laughed a mirthless laugh. To him vividly flashed back the memory of the flint spearhead and the gnawed leg-bone, cracked open so the marrow could be sucked out, all gashed with savage tooth-marks.
A certain creepy sensation began to develop along his spine. He felt a prickling on the nape of his neck, as the hair stirred there. Instinctively he reached for his revolver.
“So, then,” he sneered at himself, “we’re up against it, after all? And all my calculations about the world being swept clear, were so much punk? Well, well, this is interesting! Oh, I see it coming, all right—good and plenty—and soon!”
But the girl interrupted his ugly thoughts as he stood there straining his eyes out into the dark.
“How splendid! How glorious!” cried she. “Only to think that we’re going to see people again! Can you imagine it?”
“Hardly.”
“Why, what’s the matter? You—speak as though you weren’t—saved!”
“I didn’t mean to. It’s—just surprise, I guess.”
“Come! Let’s signal them with a fire from the tower top. I’ll help carry wood. Let’s hurry down and run and meet them!”
Highly excited, the girl had got to her feet again, and now, clutched the engineer’s arm in burning eagerness.
“Let’s go! Go—at once! This minute!”
But he restrained her.
“You don’t really think that would be quite prudent, do you?” asked he. “Not just yet?”
“Why not?”
“Why, can’t you see? We—that is, there is no way to tell—”
“But they’re coming to save us, can’t you see? Somehow, somewhere, they must have caught that signal! And shall we wait, and perhaps let them lose us, after all?”
“Certainly not. But first we—why, we ought to make quite sure, you understand. Sure that they—they’re really civilized, you know.”
“But they must be, to have read the wireless!”
“Oh, you’re counting on that, are you? Well, that’s a big assumption. It won’t do. No, we’ve got to go slow in this game. Got to wait. Wait, and see. Easy does it!”
He tried to speak boldly and with nonchalance, but the girl’s keen ear detected at least a little of the emotion that was troubling him. She kept a moment’s silence, while the quivering lights drew on and on, steadily, slowly, like a host of fireflies on the bosom of the night.
“Why don’t you get the telescope, and see?” she asked, at length.
“No use. It isn’t a night-glass. Couldn’t see a thing.”
“But anyhow, those lights mean men, don’t they?”
“Naturally. But until we know what kind, we’re better off right where we are. I’m willing to welcome the coming guest, all right, if he’s peaceful. Otherwise, it’s powder and ball, hot water, stones and things for him!”
The girl stared a moment at the engineer, while this new idea took root within her brain.
“You—you don’t mean,” she faltered at last, “that these may be—savages!”
He started at the word. “What makes you think that?” he parried, striving to spare her all needless alarm.
She pondered a moment, while the fire-dots, like a shoal of swimming stars, drew slowly nearer, nearer the Manhattan shore.
“Tell me, are they savages?”
“How do I know?”
“It’s easy enough to see you’ve got an opinion about it. You think they’re savages, don’t you?”
“I think it’s very possible.”
“And if so—what then?”
“What then? Why, in case they aren’t mighty nice and kind, there’ll be a hot time in the old town, that’s all. And somebody’ll get hurt. It won’t be us!”
Beatrice asked no more, for a minute or two, but the engineer felt her fingers tighten on his arm.
“I’m with you, till the end!” she whispered.
Another pregnant silence, while the nightwind stirred her hair and wafted the warm feminine perfume of her to his nostrils. Stern took a long, deep breath. A sort of dizziness crept over him, as from a glass of wine on an empty stomach. The Call of Woman strove to master him, but he repelled it. And, watching the creeping lights, he spoke; spoke to himself as much as to the girl; spoke, lest he think too much.
“There’s a chance, a mere possibility,” said he, “that those boats, canoes, coracles or whatever they may be, belong to white people, far descendants of the few suppositions survivors of the cataclysm. There’s some slight chance that these people may be civilized, or partly so.
“Why they’re coming across the Hudson, at this time o’ night, with what object and to what place, we can’t even guess. All we can do is wait, and watch and—be ready for anything.”
“For anything!” she echoed. “You’ve seen me shoot! You know!”
He took her hand, and pressed it. And silence fell again, as the long vigil started, there in the shadow of the tower, on the roof.
For some quarter of an hour, neither spoke. Then at last, said Stern:
“See, now! The lights seem to be winking out. The canoes must have come close in toward the shore of the island. They’re being masked behind the trees. The people—whoever they are—will be landing directly now!”
“And then?”
“Wait and see!”
They resigned themselves to patience. The girl’s breath came quickly, as she watched. Even the engineer felt his heart throb with accelerated haste.
Now, far in the east, dim over the flat and dreary ruins of Long Island, the sky began to silver, through a thin veil of cirrus cloud. A pallid moon was rising. Far below, a breeze stirred the tree-fronds in Madison Forest. A bat staggered drunkenly about the tower, then reeled away into the gloom; and, high aloft, an owl uttered its melancholy plaint.
Beatrice shuddered.
“They’ll be here pretty soon!” whispered she. “Hadn’t we better go down, and get our guns? In case—”
“Time enough,” he answered. “Wait a while.”
“Hark! What’s that?” she exclaimed suddenly, holding her breath.
Off to northward, dull, muffled, all but inaudible, they both heard a rhythmic pulsing, strangely barbaric.
“Heavens!” ejaculated Stern. “War-drums! Tom-toms, as I live!”
CHAPTER XVI
THE GATHERING OF THE HORDES
“Tom-toms? So they are savages?” exclaimed the girl, taking a quick breath. “But—what then?”
“Don’t just know, yet. It’s a fact, though; they’re certainly savages. Two tribes, one with torches, one with drums. Two different kinds, I guess. And they’re coming in here to parley or fight or something. Regular powwow on hand. Trouble ahead, whichever side wins!”
“For us?”
“That depends. Maybe we’ll be able to lie hidden, here, till this thing blows over, whatever it may be. If not, and if they cut off our water-supply, well—”
He ended with a kind of growl. The sound gave Beatrice a strange sensation. She kept a moment’s silence, then remarked:
“They’re up around Central Park now, the drums are, don’t you think so? How far do you make that?”
“Close on to two miles. Come, let’s be moving.”
In silence they climbed the shaky ladder, reached the tower stairs and descended the many stories to their dwelling.
Here, the first thing Stern did was to strike a light, which he masked in a corner, behind a skin stretched like a screen from one wall to the other. By this illumination, very dim yet adequate, he minutely examined all their firearms.
He loaded every one to capacity and made sure all were in working order. Then he satisfied himself that the supply of cartridges was ample. These he laid carefully along by the windows overlooking Madison Forest, by the door leading into the suite of offices, and by the stair-head that gave access to the fifth floor.
Then he blew out the light again.
“Two revolvers, one shotgun, and one rifle, all told,” said he. “All magazine arms. I guess that’ll hold them for a while, if it comes down to brass tacks! How’s your nerve, Beatrice?”
“Never better!” she whispered, from the dark. He saw the dim white blur that indicated her face, and it was very dear to him, all of a sudden—dearer, far, than he had ever realized.
“Good little girl!” he exclaimed, giving her the rifle. A moment his hand pressed hers. Then with a quick intake of the breath, he strode over to the window and once more listened. She followed.
“Much nearer, now!” judged he. “Hear that, will you?”
Again they listened.
Louder now the drums sounded, dull, ominous, pulsating like the hammering of a fever-pulse inside a sick man’s skull. A dull, confused hum, a noise as of a swarming mass of bees, drifted down-wind.
“Maybe they’ll pass by?” whispered Beatrice.
“It’s Madison Forest they’re aiming at!” returned the engineer. “See there!”
He pointed to westward.
There, far off along the forest-lane of Fourteenth Street, a sudden gleam of light flashed out among the trees, vanished, reappeared, was joined by two, ten, a hundred others. And now the whole approach to Madison Forest, by several streets, began to sparkle with these feux-follets, weaving and flickering unsteadily toward the square.
Here, there, everywhere through the dense masses of foliage, the watchers could already see a dim and moving mass, fitfully illuminated by torches that now burned steady, now flared into red and smoky tourbillons of flame in the nightwind.
“Like monster glow-worms, crawling among the trees!” the girl exclaimed. “We could mow them down, from here, already! God grant we sha’n’t have to fight!”
“S-h-h-h! Wait and see what’s up!”
Now, from the other horde, coming from the north, sounds of warlike preparation were growing ever louder.
With quicker beats the insistent tom-toms throbbed their rhythmic melancholy rune, hollow and dissonant. Then all at once the drums ceased; and through the night air drifted a minor chant; a wail, that rose, fell, died, and came again, lagging as many strange voices joined it.
And from the square, below, a shrill, high-pitched, half-animal cry responded. Creeping shudders chilled the flesh along the engineer’s backbone.
“What I need, now,” thought he, “is about a hundred pounds of high-grade dynamite, or a gallon of nitroglycerin. Better still, a dozen capsules of my own invention, my ‘Pulverite!’
“I guess that would settle things mighty quick. It would be the joker in this game, all right! Well, why not make some? With what chemicals I’ve got left, couldn’t I work up a half-pint? Bottled in glass flasks, I guess it would turn the trick on ‘em!”
“Why, they look black!” suddenly interrupted the girl. “See there—and there?”
She pointed toward the spring. Stern saw moving shadows in the dark. Then, through an opening, he got a blurred impression
of a hand, holding a torch. He saw a body, half-human.
The glimpse vanished, but he had seen enough.
“Black—yes, blue-black! They seem so, anyhow. And—why, did you see the size of them? No bigger than apes! Good Heaven!”
Involuntarily he shuddered. For now, like a dream-horde of hideous creatures seen in a nightmare, the torch-bearers had spread all through the forest at the base of the Metropolitan.
Away from the building out across by the spring and even to Fifth Avenue the mob extended, here thick, there thin, without order or coherence—a shifting, murmuring, formless, seemingly planless congeries of dull brutality.
Here or there, where the swaying of the trees parted the branches a little, the wavering lights brought some fragment of the mass to view.
No white thing showed anywhere. All was dark and vague. Indistinctly, waveringly as in a vision, dusky heads could be made out. There showed a naked arm, greasily shining for a second in the ruddy glow which now diffused itself through the whole wood. Here the watchers saw a glistening back; again, an out-thrust leg, small and crooked, apelike and repulsive.
And once again the engineer got a glimpse of a misshapen hand, a long, lean, hideous hand that clutched a spear. But, hardly seen, it vanished into obscurity once more.
“Seems as though malformed human members, black and bestial, had been flung at random into a ghastly kaleidoscope, turned by a madman!” whispered Stern. The girl answering nothing, peered out in fascinated horror.
Up, up to the watchers rose a steady droning hum; and from the northward, ever louder, ever clearer, came now the war-song of the attacking party. The drums began again, suddenly. A high-pitched, screaming laugh echoed and died among the woods beyond the ruins of Twenty-eighth street.
Still in through the western approaches of the square, more and more lights kept straggling. Thicker and still more thick grew the press below. Now the torch-glow was strong enough to cast its lurid reflections on the vacant-staring wrecks of windows and of walls, gaping like the shattered skulls of a civilization which was no more. To the nostrils of the man and woman up floated an acrid, pitchy smell. And birds, dislodged from sleep, began to zigzag about, aimlessly, with frightened cries. One even dashed against the building, close at hand; and fell, a fluttering, broken thing, to earth.
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