by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER II.
_On the Edge of the Precipice._
On Friday evening, March 19th, a thunderstorm of unusual violence brokeover London. It was notably peculiar in certain of its aspects. Theweather was cold and showery, a typical day of the March equinox. Undersuch conditions barometric pressure remains fixed rather than variable,yet many whose business or hobby it is to record such facts observed arapid shrinkage of the mercury column between the hours of six andseven. A deluge of rain fell for many minutes, and was followed, about7.30 P. M., by a mad turmoil of thunder and an astounding electricaldisplay not often witnessed beyond the confines of the giant mountainranges of the world.
So violent and unnerving was the outburst that the social life of Londonwas paralyzed for the hour. Theater parties, diners in the fashionablerestaurants, the greater millions anxious to get away from offices andshops, those eager alike to enter and leave the charmed circle of thefour-mile radius, were ruthlessly bidden to wait while the awesomeforces of nature made mad racket in the streets. All horseflesh wasafraid. The drivers of cabs and omnibuses were unable to make progress.They had sufficient ado to restrain their maddened animals from addingthe havoc of blind charges through the streets to the general confusioncaused by the warring elements. Telegraph and telephone wires became notonly useless but dangerous, and the suburban train service wasconsequently plunged into a tangle from which it was not extricateduntil midnight.
So general was the confusion, so widespread the public alarm, that thesudden cessation of the uproar at eight o'clock caused more prayers ofthankfulness to be uttered in the metropolis than had been heard formany a day. But worse remained. Thus far the lightning had beenappalling, brilliantly lurid, but harmless. At ten o'clock the stormraged again, this time without the preliminary downfall of rain, and thelightning, though less sensational in appearance, was demoniac ineffect, levying a toll on human lives, causing fires and general damageto property, accounts of which filled many columns of the newspapersnext morning. This second outburst was succeeded by heavy and continuousrain. At the hour when the theaters emptied their diminishing audiencesinto the streets London wore its normal rain-sodden aspect. It was notuntil the following day that people fully understood the magnitude andterrifying results of the later display.
About a quarter to eight, while the first storm was at its height, acarriage and pair dashed into a fashionable West End square and pulledup outside a mansion cast in the stereotyped mold of the early Victorianperiod. The horses, overfed and underworked, had been rendered franticby the drive through the park from the further west. Fortunately, theyknew this halting place, or the coachman would never have succeeded instopping them. As it was, they sweated white with fear, and the footman,shouting to the occupants of the carriage that he could not attend tothe door, ran to their heads after giving a vigorous tug at the housebell.
A boy, tall and thin, and scantily attired for such weather, who hadtaken shelter in the dark portico of the mansion, ran forward to offerhis services at the carriage door. A bundle of evening papers, coveredwith a piece of sacking, somewhat impeded the use of his left hand, and,as it happened, in his right he held a large bun on which he had justcommenced to dine.
Before he could turn the handle the carriage door opened from theinside. A man sprang out.
"Get out of the way," he said, impatiently, and the newsboy obeyed, gladthat he had not followed his first impulse and flung away the bun.
A vivid flash of lightning made the horses rear and plunge.
"Look sharp, Elf," cried the stranger, in no more cordial tone. "Gatheryour wraps and jump out. On a night like this these nervous brutes----"
A peal of thunder that rattled the windows interrupted him. The twoanimals reared and backed with one accord. The plucky footman, hangingonto the crossbars of the bits, was lifted off his feet and bangedviolently against the pole. He was forced to let go, and fell,staggering backward some yards before he dropped. There was a smash ofiron and wood, and the near hind wheel of the carriage jammed againstthe curb. A slight scream came from the interior. Certain that thevehicle would turn over instantly, the man who had alighted slammed thedoor and sprang clear. In doing so he tripped over the newsboy and fellheavily on the pavement. The boy, quicker to note that the breaking ofthe pole had given a momentary respite, rushed into the roadway,throwing away both precious bun and still more precious stock of unsoldpapers.
He wrenched the other door open, and shouted:
"This way, madam! Quick!"
"Madam" was quick. She sprang right into his arms, and proved to be agirl of twelve or thereabouts, dressed all in white, and wrapped in anermine cloak.
Over went the carriage with a fearful crash. The coachman managed tojump from the box into the roadway. He retained the reins and whip inhis grasp, and now, losing his temper, lashed the struggling horsessavagely. This cowed them, and they ceased their antics.
The boy and the girl found themselves standing on the sidewalk, close tothe ruined vehicle.
"You have saved my life!" said the girl, sweetly, and without any traceof the nervousness which might naturally be expected after such a narrowescape from a serious accident.
The boy noted that her eyes were large and blue, that she wore a greatshining ornament in her hair, and that she appeared to be dressed insomewhat fanciful manner, though the big cloak she wore concealed thedetails.
The door of the mansion opened, and servants came running out.
Suddenly the boy received a violent blow on the side of the head.
"Confound you!" shouted the man who had fallen on the pavement, "whydidn't you get out of the way when I told you?"
The boy, astounded by such recognition of his timely help, made noreply, but the girl protested vehemently.
"Oh, uncle," she cried, "why did you strike him? He got me out of thecarriage just before it turned over. He did, indeed!"
Another vivid flash of lightning illumined the scene. It lit up thegroup with starling brilliancy. The boy, still somewhat shaken by thevicious blow, was nevertheless able to see clearly the pale, handsome,but dissipated features of his enraged assailant, whose evening dressand immaculate linen were soiled by the black mud of the pavement. Thegirl, dainty and fairy-like, a little maid of aristocratic type, and ofa beauty that promised much in later years, was distressed now andalmost tearful.
Through the crowd of frightened servants, augmented by a few daringpedestrians, a burly policeman, gigantic in waterproof overalls, wasadvancing with official bluster.
"What has happened?" he demanded. "Is anybody hurt?"
The man answered:
"My horses were startled by the storm. I jumped out and was endeavoringto extricate my niece when this wretched boy got in the way."
"Uncle," protested the girl, "you closed the door on me, and theboy----"
"Shut up!" he growled, curtly. "Go inside the house!"
But his niece shared with him at least one characteristic. She possessedthe family temper.
"I will not go away and let you say things which are untrue. Listen tome, Mr. Policeman. Lord Vanstone did close the door because he thoughtthe carriage would turn over on top of him. For some reason the accidentdid not happen immediately, and the boy ran round to the other side andhelped me out just in time."
"Confound the brat! I think he was the real cause of the whole affair.Why was he hiding in my doorway?"
Lord Vanstone was more enraged than ever by the girl's obstinate defenseof her rescuer and her insistence on his own seeming cowardice.
"I was not hiding. I only took shelter from the storm. I tried to helpyou because the footman was struggling with the horses. I do not claimany credit for simply opening a door and helping the young lady toalight, but I lost both my dinner and my papers in doing so."
Everyone experienced a shock of surprise at hearing the boy's elegantdiction. The policeman was puzzled. He instantly understood the facts,but dared not browbeat an earl.
"You do not bring any
charge against him, my lord?" he said.
But his lordship deigned no reply. He told the coachman to arrange forthe removal of the carriage, grasped his niece by the arm and led her,still protesting, into the house.
The policeman saw the bundle of papers scattered over the roadway, and,near them, the partly-eaten bun. After a wrench at his garments heproduced a penny.
"Here," he said to the boy. "Buy another bun and be off. It's a goodjob for you the young lady spoke up the way she did."
"She merely told the truth. That man was a liar."
Refusing the proffered penny, the boy turned on his heel. The policemanlooked after him.
"That's a queer kid," he thought. "Talked like a regular young gent. Iwonder why he is selling papers. Poor lad! He lost a bob's worth atleast, and small thanks he got for it."
Passing out of the square by the first eastward street, Philip Anson,with his head erect and hands clinched in his pockets, strode onward ata rapid pace. The lightning was less frequent now, and the thunder wasdying away in sullen rumblings. He was wet and hungry. Yet, although hehad three halfpence, the remaining balance of the only sales effectedthat evening, he passed many shops where he could have bought food.
In Piccadilly, where the cessation of the storm created a rush oftraffic, he was nearly run over, by reason of his own carelessness, andreceived a slash from a whip, accompanied by a loud oath from an angrycabman. He shivered, but never even looked around. Crossing TrafalgarSquare, he plunged through the vortex of vehicles without troubling toavoid them in the slightest degree. Once the hot breath of a pair of vanhorses touched his cheek while a speechless driver pulled them back ontotheir haunches. Again, the off-wheel of an omnibus actually grazed hisheel as he sped behind the statue of Charles the First.
At last he reached the comparative seclusion of the Embankment, andstood for a moment to gaze fixedly at the swirling, glinting river.
"Not here," he muttered, aloud. "I must be nearer to mother--dear oldmother! She is there, waiting for me."
He trudged steadily away, through Queen Victoria Street, Cornhill,Leadenhall Street, and so on to Johnson's Mews, in the Mile End Road.Pausing at a marine store dealer's shop, kept by an army pensioner, anIrishman, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, he entered. An elderlyman was laboriously reading a paper of the preceding day's date.
"Good-evening, Mr. O'Brien," he said. "Can you oblige me with a piece ofrope? I want a strong piece, about three or four yards in length. I canonly spare three halfpence."
"Faix, I dunno. They use nails on the crates mostly nowadays. If I havea bit it's at yer sarvice. I wouldn't be afther chargin' the likes o'you."
Philip's story was known in that humble locality, and the old soldiersympathized with the boy. "He has rale spunk an' no mistake," was hisverdict when others said Philip was proud and overbearing. O'Brien movedrheumatically about the squalid shop. At last he found some portion of aclothesline.
"Will that do?" he inquired.
Philip tested it with vigorous pulling against his knee.
"Excellently," he said. "Let me pay you for it."
"Arrah, go away wid ye. And, be the powers, isn't the poor lad cowld an'famished. Luke here, now. In five minutes I'm goin' to have a cup o'tay----"
"I am awfully obliged to you, but I could not touch a morsel. I am in ahurry."
"Are ye goin' a journey? Have ye got a job?"
"I think so. It looks like a permanency. Good-by."
"Good-by, an' good luck to ye. Sure the boy looks mighty quare. 'Tisgrief for his mother has turned his head entirely."
No words could more clearly express Philip's condition than thisfriendly summing up. Since his mother's burial he had been halfdemented. His curt, disconnected answers had lost him two places as anerrand boy, which he could easily have secured. His small stock ofmoney, ridiculously depleted by the generosity with which he met theopen hints of the undertaker's assistants, barely sufficed to keep himin food for a week. Then he sought employment, but with such stiff upperlip and haughty indifference to success that he unknowingly turned thoseagainst him who would have assisted him.
For two days he was chosen to act as van boy for a parcel delivery firm.He earned a few meals, but in a fit of aberration induced by the sightof a lady who was dressed in a costume similar to one he remembered hismother wearing at Dieppe, he allowed a ham to be stolen from the rear ofthe van. This procured his instant dismissal, with threats. Then he soldnewspapers, only to find that every good site was jealously guarded by agang of roughs who mercilessly bullied any newcomer. Personal strengthand courage were unavailing against sheer numbers. His face was stillswollen and his ribs sore as the result of being knocked down and kickedat Ludgate Circus; at Charing Cross next day he was hustled under thewheels of an omnibus and narrowly escaped death. So he was driven intothe side streets and the quiet squares, in which, during three or fourdays, he managed to earn an average of eightpence daily, which he spenton food.
Each night he crept back to the poor tenement in Johnson's Mews, hisbleak "home" amidst the solitude of empty stables and warehouses. Thekeeper of a coffee stall, touched one night by his woe-begoneappearance, gave him some half-dried coffee grounds in a paper, togetherwith a handful of crusts.
"Put 'arf that in a pint of water," he said, looking critically at thesoddened mess of coffee, "an' when it comes to a bile let it settle.It'll surprise you to find 'ow grateful an' comfortin' it tastes on acold night. As for the crusts, if you bake 'em over the fire, they'rejust as good as the rusks you buy in tins."
This good Samaritan had repeated his gift on two occasions, and Philiphad a fairly large supply of small coal, sent to his mother by thecolliery company, so his position, desperate enough, was yet bearablehad he but sought to accustom himself to the new conditions of life.There was a chance that his wild broodings would have yielded to thenecessity to earn a living, and that when next a situation was offeredto him he would keep it, but the occurrences of this stormy night hadutterly shaken him for the hour. He was on the verge of lunacy.
As he passed through the dark archway leading to his abode, the desolatestable yard was fitfully lit by lightning, and in the distance he heardthe faint rumble of thunder. The elemental strife was beginning again.This was the second and more disastrous outbreak of the evening of March19th.
Although wet to the skin he was warm now on account of his long andrapid walk. When he unlocked the door another flash of lightningrevealed the dismal interior. He closed and locked the door behind him.On the mantelpiece were a farthing candle and some matches. He gropedfor them and soon had a light. On other occasions his next task was tolight a fire. By sheer force of habit he gathered together some sticksand bits of paper and arranged them in the grate. But the task wasirksome to him. It was absurd to seek any degree of comfort for the fewminutes he had to live. Better end it at once. Moreover, the storm wassweeping up over the East End with such marvelous speed that thelightning now played through the tiny room with dazzling brilliancy, andthe wretched candle burned with blue and ghostlike feebleness. The coldof the house, too, began to strike chilly. He was so exhausted fromhunger that if he did not eat soon he would not have the strength leftto carry out his dread purpose.
He sprang erect with a mocking little laugh, picked up the candle andthe piece of rope, and climbed the stairs. He paused irresolutely at thetop, but, yielding to overwhelming desire, went on and stood at the sideof the bed on which his mother had died. He fancied he could see herlying there still, with a smile on her wan face and unspoken words ofwelcome on her lips.
A flood of tears came and he trembled violently.
"I am coming to you, mother," he murmured. "You told me to trust in God,but I think God has forgotten me. I don't want to live. I want to joinyou, and then, perhaps, God will remember me."
He stooped and kissed the pillow, nestling his face against it, as hewas wont to fondle the dear face that rested there so many weary days.Then he resolutely turned away, descended four s
teps of the ladder-likestairs, and tied the clothesline firmly to a hook which had been driveninto the ceiling during the harness-room period of the room beneath.With equal deliberation he knotted the other end of the cord round hisneck, and he calculated that by springing from the stairs he wouldreceive sufficient shock to become insensible very quickly, while hisfeet would dangle several inches above the floor.
There was a terrible coolness, a settled fixity of purpose far beyondhis years, in the manner of these final preparations. At last they werecompleted. He blew out the candle and stood erect.
At that instant the room became absolutely flooded with lightning, notin a single vivid flash, but in a trembling, continuous glare, thatsuggested the effect of some luminous constellation, fierce withelectric energy. Before his eyes was exhibited a startling panorama ofthe familiar objects of his lonely abode. The brightness, so sustainedand tremulous, startled him back from the very brink of death.
"I will wait," he said. "When the thunder comes, then I will jump."
Even as the thought formed in his mind, a ball of fire--so glowing, soiridescent in its flaming heat that it dominated the electric wavesfluttering in the over-burdened air--darted past the little window thatlooked out over the tiny yard in the rear of the house, and crashedthrough the flagstones with the din of a ten-inch shell.
Philip, elevated on the stairway, distinctly saw the molten splash whichaccompanied its impact. He saw the heavy stones riven asunder as ifthey were tissue paper, and, from the hole caused by the thunderbolt, ormeteor, came a radiance that sent a spreading shaft of light upward likethe beam of a searchlight. The warmth, too, of the object was almostoverpowering. Were not the surrounding walls constructed of stone andbrick there must have been an immediate outbreak of fire. As it was, theglass in the windows cracked, and the woodwork began to scorch. In thesame instant a dreadful roll of thunder swept over the locality, and adeluge of rain, without any further warning, descended.
All this seemed to the wondering boy to be a very long time in passing.In reality it occupied but a very few seconds. People in the distantstreet could not distinguish the crash of the fallen meteor from theaccompanying thunder, and the downpour of rain came in the very nick oftime to prevent the wood in the house and the neighboring factories fromblazing forth into a disastrous fire.
The torrent of water caused a dense volume of steam to generate in theback yard, and this helped to minimize the strange light shooting upfrom the cavity. There was a mad hissing and crackling as the rainpoured over the meteor and gradually dulled its brightness. Pandemoniumraged in that curiously secluded nook.
Amazed and cowed--not by the natural phenomenon he had witnessed, but bythe interpretation he placed on it--the boy unfastened the rope from hisneck.
"Very well, mother," he whispered, aloud. "If it is your wish I willlive. I suppose that God speaks in this way."