University of Virginia Library

45. CHAPTER XLV.
“CHRISTINE, AWAKE! FOR YOUR LIFE!”

Dennis was too much stunned and bewildered to do
more than instinctively work his way to the windward as
the only point of safety, but the fire was now becoming so
broad in its sweep that to do this was difficult. The awful
event he had witnessed seemed to partially paralyze him;
for he knew that the oath, hot as the scorching flames, was
scarcely uttered before Mr. Ludolph's lips were closed forever.
He and his ambitious dream perished in a moment,
and he was summoned to the other world to learn what his
proud reason scoffed at in this.

For a block or more Dennis was passively borne along
by the rushing mob. Suddenly a loud voice seemed to
shout almost in his ear:

“The north side is burning!” and he started as from
a dream. The thought of Christine flashed upon him, perishing
perhaps in the flames. He remembered that now
she had no protector, and that he for the moment had forgotten
her; though in truth he never imagined that the
north side would burn.

In an agony of fear and anxiety he put forth every effort
of which he was capable, and tore through the crowd as
if mad. There was no way of getting across the river now
save by the La Salle Street tunnel. Into this dark passage

he plunged with multitudes of others. It was indeed as
near Pandemonium as any earthly condition could be.
Driven forward by the swiftly pursuing flames, hemmed in
on every side, a shrieking, frenzied, terror-stricken throng
rushed into the black cavern. Every moral difference was
represented there. Those who led abandoned lives were
plainly recognizable, their guilty consciences finding expression
in their livid faces. These jostled the refined and
delicate lady, who, in the awful democracy of the hour,
brushed against thief and harlot. Little children wailed for
their lost parents, and many were trampled under foot.
Parents cried for their children, women shrieked for their
husbands, some praying, many cursing with oaths as hot as
the flames that crackled near. Multitudes were in no other
costumes save those in which they sprang from their beds.
Altogether it was a strange incongrnuous writhing mass of
humanity such as the world never looked upon, pouring
into what might seem, in its horrors, the mouth of hell.

As Dennis entered the utter darkness a confused roar
smote his ear that might have appalled the stoutest heart,
but he was now oblivious to everything save Christine's
danger. With set teeth he put his shoulder against the living
mass and pushed with the strongest till he emerged into
the glare of the north side. Here escaping from the throng
somewhat, he made his way rapidly to the Ludolph mansion,
which to his joy he found was still considerably to the
windward of the fire. But from the southwest he saw that
another line of flame was bearing down upon it.

The front door was locked, and the house utterly dark.
He rung the bell furiously, but there was no response. He
walked around under the window and shouted, but the
place remained as dark and silent as a tomb. He pounded
on the door, but its massive thickness scarcely admitted of
a reverberation.

“They must have escaped,” he said; “but, merciful
heaven, there must be no uncertainty in this case. What
shall I do?”

The windows of the lower story were all strongly
guarded and hopeless, but one opening on the balcony of
Christine's studio seemed practicable if it could be reached.
A half-grown elm swayed its graceful branches over the
balcony, and Dennis knew the tough and fibrous nature of
this tree. In the New England woods of his early home
he had learned to climb for nuts like a squirrel, and so
with no great difficulty he mounted up the trunk and dropped
from an overhanging branch to the vantage-point he
sought. The window was down from the top, but the
lower sash was fastened. He could see the catch by the
light of the fire. He broke the pane of glass nearest it,
hoping that the crash might awaken Christine, if she were
still there. But after the clatter died away there was no
sound. He then noisily raised the sash and stepped in.

What a rush of memories came over him as he looked
around the familiar place. There was the spot where he
stood and asked for the love that he had valued more
than life. There stood the easel where, through Christine's
gifted touch, his painted face had pleaded with scarcely
less eloquence, till he blotted it out with his own hand. In
memory of it all his heart again failed him, and he sighed:

“She will never love me.”

But there was no time for sentiment. He called loudly:
“Miss Ludolph, awake! awake! for your life!”

There was no answer. “She must be gone,” he said.
The front room, facing toward the west, he knew to be her
sleeping apartment. Going through the ordinary passage
of city houses, he knocked loudly, and called again; but
in the silence that followed he heard his own watch tick,
and his heart beat. He pushed the door open with the

feeling of one who was profaning a shrine, and looked
timidly in. Even in that thrilling hour of peril and anxiety,
his eye was enraptured by the beauty of the room. Not
only was it furnished with the utmost luxuriance, but everything
spoke of a quaint and cultured taste, from the
curious marble clock and bronze on the mantel, even to
the pattern of the Turkey carpet on which the glare of the
fire, as it glinted through the shutters, played faintly. One
of the most marked features, however, was an exquisite life-size
statue of Diana at the foot of the bed, grasping her bow
with one hand, and in the act of seizing an arrow with the
other, as if aroused to self-defence. When Dennis first
saw it, he was so startled by its life-like attitude that he
stepped back into the passage. But, with all the beauty
of the room, it was utterly pagan; not a single thing suggested
Christian faith or a knowledge of the true God.
With the exception of its modern air, it might just as well
have been the resting-place of a Greek or Roman maiden
of rank.

Reassured, he timidly advanced again, and then for
the first time, between two marble statuettes holding back
the curtains of the bed, saw Christine, but looking more
white and deathlike than the marble itself.

She lay with her face toward him. Her hair of gold,
unconfined, streamed over the pillow; one fair round arm,
from which her night robe had slipped back, was clasped
around her head, and a flickering ray of light finding access
at the window played upon her face and neck with the
strangest and most weird effect.

So deep was her slumber that she seemed dead, and
Dennis, in his overwrought state, thought that she was.
For a moment his heart stood still, and his tongue was
paralyzed. A distant explosion aroused him. Approaching
softly he said in an awed whisper (he seemed powerless
to speak louder):

“Miss Ludolph!—Christine!”

But the light of the coming fire played and flickered
over the still, white face, that never before seemed so
strangely beautiful.

“Miss Ludolph!—Oh, Christine, awake!” cried Dennis
louder.

To his wonder and unbounded perplexity, he saw the
hitherto motionless lips wreathe themselves into a lovely
smile, but otherwise there was no response, and the
ghostly light played and flickered on, dancing on temple,
brow, and snowy throat, and clasping the white arm in
wavy circlets of gold. It was all so weird and strange,
that he was growing superstitious, and losing faith in his
own senses. He could not know that she was under the
influence of an opiate, and that his voice of all others
could, like a faint echo, find access to her mind so deeply
sunk in lethargy.

But a louder and nearer explosion, like a warning
voice, made him wholly desperate; and he roughly seized
her hand, determining to dispel the illusion, and learn
the truth at once.

Christine's blue eyes opened wide with a bewildered
stare; a look of the wildest terror came into them, and
she started up and shrieked, “Father! Father!”

Then turning toward the as yet unknown invader, she
cried piteously:

“Oh, spare my life! Take everything; I will give you
anything you ask, only spare my life.”

She evidently thought herself addressing a ruthless
robber.

Dennis retreated toward the door the moment she
awakened; and this somewhat reassured her.

In the firm quiet tone that always calms excitement he
replied:

“I only ask you to give me your confidence, Miss
Ludolph, and to join with me, Dennis Fleet, in my effort
to save your life.”

“Dennis Fleet! Dennis Fleet! save my life! O ye
gods what does it all mean?” and she passed her hand in
bewilderment across her brow, as if to brush away the
wild fancies of a dream.

“Miss Ludolph, as you love your life, arouse yourself
and escape! The city is burning!”

“I don't believe it!” she cried in an agony of terror
and anger. “Leave the room! How dare you! You are
not Dennis Fleet; he is a white man, and you are black!
You are an impostor! Leave quick, or my father will
come and take your life! Father! Father!”

Dennis without a word stepped to the window, tore
aside the curtain, threw open the shutters, and the fire
filled the room with the glare of noonday. At that moment
an explosion occurred which shook the very earth.
Everything rattled, and a beautiful porcelain vase fell
crashing to the floor.

Christine shrieked and covered her face with her
hands.

Dennis approached the bedside, and said in a gentle,
firm tone that she knew to be his:

“Miss Ludolph, I am Mr. Fleet. My face is blackened
through smoke and dust, as is every one's out in the
streets to-night. You know something of me, and I think
you know nothing dishonorable. Can you not trust me?
Indeed you must; your life depends upon it!”

“Oh, pardon me, Mr. Fleet!” she cried eagerly. “I
am not worthy of this, but now that I know you, I do
trust you from the depths of my soul!”

“Prove it then by doing just as I bid you,” he replied
in a voice so firm and prompt that it seemed almost stern.

Retreating to the door, he continued: “I give you just
five minutes in which to make your toilet and gather a
light bundle of your choicest valuables. Dress in woollen
throughout, and dress warmly. I will see that the servants
are aroused. Your father is on the south side, and cannot
reach you. You must trust in God, and what I can do
for you.”

“I must trust to you alone,” she said. “Please send
my maid to me.”

Mr. Ludolph had sipped his wine during the evening,
and his servants had sipped, in no dainty way, something
stronger, and therefore had not awakened readily. But the
uproar in the streets had aroused them, and Dennis found
them scuttling down the upper stairs in a half-clad state,
each bearing a large bundle, which had been made up
without regard to meum and tuum.

“Och, murther! is the wourld burning up?” cried the
cook.

“Be still, ye howlin' fool,” said the cool and travelled
maid. “It's only von big fire.”

“Go to your mistress and help her, quick!” cried
Dennis.

“Go to my mistress! I go to de street and save my
life.”

“Oh, Janette!” cried Christine. “Come and help me!”

“I am meeserable dat I cannot. I must bid Mademoiselle
quick adieu,” said the heartless creature, still keeping
up the thin veneer of French politeness.

Dennis looked through the upper rooms and was satisfied
they were empty. Suddenly a piercing shriek from
Christine sent him flying to her room. As he ran he
heard her cry:

“Oh, Mr. Fleet! mercy! mercy!”

To go back a little (for on that awful night events

marched as rapidly as the flames, and the experience of
years was crowded into hours, and that of hours into moments),
Christine had sought as best she could to obey
Dennis' directions, but she was sadly helpless, having been
trained to a foolish dependence on her maid. She had
accomplished but little when she heard a heavy step in the
room. Looking up, she saw a strange man regarding her
with an evil eye, and yet there was something most disageeably
familiar about him.

“What do you want?” she faltered.

“You, for one thing, and all you have got, for another,”
was the brutal reply.

“Leave this room!” she cried in a voice she vainly
tried to render firm.

“No yer don't, Miss Ludolph. Yer don't git off so
easy this time. Don't yer know me?—yer once said yer
loved me! Yer see I'm faithful if you hain't,” he added
with a satanic grin, and to her horror she recognized
Deacon Gudgeon's son, her unknown boyish admirer,
grown up to coarse and criminal manhood. She sought to
escape by him with the loud cry that Dennis heard, but he
planted his big grimy hand in the delicate frill of her
night-robe where it clasped her throat, and with a coarse
laugh said:

“Not so fast, my dainty! you are in my power this
time, and I can take what I please.”

Trembling and half fainting (for she had no physical
courage) she cried for Dennis, and never did knightly
heart respond with more brave and loving throb to the cry
of helpless woman than his. He came with almost the
impetus of a thunderbolt, and young Gudgeon, startled,
looked around, and catching a glimpse of his blazing eyes,
dropped his hold on Christine, and shrank and cowered
from the blow he could not avert. Before his hand could

instinctively reach the pistol it sought, there was a thud,
and he fell like a log to the floor. Then springing upon
him Dennis took away his weapons, and seizing him by the
collar of his coat, dragged him backward downstairs and
thrust him into the street. Pointing his own pistol at him
he said, “If you trouble us again, I will shoot you like a
dog!”

The villain slunk off more quickly than on the former
occasion, but in a rage of disappointment. Finding some
kindred spirits sacking a liquor-store not far off, he joined
the orgy, seeking to drown his feelings in rum, and succeeded
so effectually that he lay in the gutter soon after,
and the escaping multitude trampled over him, and soon
the fire blotted out his miserable existence, as it did that
of so many who rendered themselves helpless by drink.

When Dennis returned he found Christine panting helplessly
on a chair.

“Oh, dress! dress!” he cried. “We have not a moment
to spare.”

The sparks and cinders were falling about the house, a
perfect storm of fire. The roof was already blazing and
smoke pouring down the stairs.

At his suggestion she had at first laid out a heavy
woollen dress and Scotch plaid shawl. She nervously
sought to put on the dress, but her trembling fingers could
not fasten it over her wildly throbbing bosom. Dennis saw
that in the terrible emergency he must act the part of a
brother or husband, and springing forward he assisted her
with the dexterity he had learned in childhood.

Just then a blazing piece of roof, borne on the wings of
the gale, crashed through the window, and in a moment the
room, that had seemed like a beautiful casket for a still
more exquisite jewel, was in flames.

Hastily wrapping Christine in the blanket shawl, he

snatched her, shrieking and wringing her hands, into the
street.

Holding his hand she ran two or three blocks with all
the speed her wild terror prompted; then her strength
began to fail, and she pantingly cried that she could run no
longer. But this rapid rush carried them out of immediate
peril, and brought them into the flying throng pressing
their way north and westward. Wedged into the multitude
they could only move on with it in the desperate struggle
forward. But fire was falling about them like a meteoric
shower.

Suddenly Christine uttered a sharp cry of pain. She
had stepped on a burning cinder, and then realized for the
first time, in her excitement, that her feet were bare.

“Oh, what shall I do?” she cried piteously, limping and
leaning heavily on Dennis' arm.

“Indeed, Miss Ludolph, from my heart I pity you.”

“Can you save me? Oh, do you think you can save
me?” she moaned in an agony of fear.

“Yes, I feel sure I can. At any rate I shall not leave
you,” and taking her a little out of the jostling crowd he
knelt and bound up the burned foot with his handkerchief.
A little farther on they came to a shoe-store with doors
open and owners gone. Almost carrying Christine into it,
for her other foot was cut and bleeding, he snatched down
a pair of boy's stout gaiters, and wiping with another handkerchief
the blood and dust from her tender little feet, he
made the handkerchiefs answer for stockings, and drew the
shoes on over them.

In the brief moment so occupied, Christine said, with
tears in her eyes, “Mr. Fleet, how kind you are! How
little I deserve all this!”

He looked up with a happy smile, and she little knew
that her few words amply repaid him.

There was a crash in the direction of the fire. With a
cry of fear, Christine put out her hands and clung to him.

“Oh, we shall perish! Are you not afraid?”

“I tremble for you, Miss Ludolph.”

“Not for yourself?”

“No! why should I? I am safe. Heaven and mother
are just beyond this tempest.”

“I would give worlds for your belief.”

“Come quick!” cried he, and they joined the fugitives,
and for a half hour pressed forward as fast as was possible
through the choked streets, Dennis merely saying an encouraging
word now and then. Suddenly she felt herself
carried to one side, and falling to the ground with him.
In a moment he lifted her up, and she saw with a sickening
terror an infuriated dray-horse plunging through the
crowd, striking down men, women, and children.

“Are you hurt?” he asked gently, passing his arm
around her and helping her forward, that they might not
lose a single step.

“Awful! awful!” she said in a low shuddering tone.

The dreadful scenes and danger were beginning to
overpower her.

A little farther on they reached an avenue to the
northwest through which Dennis hoped to escape. But
they could make but little headway through the dense
masses of drays, carriages and human beings, and at last
everything came to a dead lock. Their only hope was
to stand in their place till the living mass moved on again.

Strange, grotesque, and sad beyond measure were the
scenes by which they were surrounded. By the side of the
aristocratic Christine, now Baroness of Ludolph, stood a
stout Irishwoman hugging a grunting, squealing pig to her
breast. A little in advance a hook-nosed spinster carried
in a cage a hook-nosed parrot that kept discordantly crying,

“Polly want a cracker.” At Dennis' left a delicate
lady of the highest social standing clasped to her bare
bosom a babe that slept as peacefully as in the luxurious
nursery at home. At her side was a little girl carrying as
tenderly a large wax doll. A diamond necklace sparkled
like a circlet of fire around the lady's neck. Her husband
had gone to the south side, and she had had but time to
snatch this and her children. A crowd of obscene and
profane rowdies stood just behind them, and with brutal
jest and coarse laughter they passed around a whiskey-bottle.
One of these roughs caught a glimpse of the
diamond necklace, and was putting forth his blackened
hand to grasp it, when Dennis pointed Gudgeon's pistol
at him and said:

“This is law now!”

The fellow slunk back. Just before them was a dray
with a corpse half covered with a blanket. The family
sat around crying and wringing their hands, and the driver
stood on his seat, cursing and gesticulating for those in
advance to move on. Some moments passed, but there
was no progress. Dennis became very anxious, for the
fire was rapidly approaching, and the sparks were falling
like hail. Every few moments some woman's dress was
ablaze, or some one struck by the flying brands. Shrieks
for help were heard on every side. Christine, being clad
in woollen, escaped this peril in part. She stood at Dennis'
side trembling like a leaf, with her hands over her face to
shut out the terrible sights.

At last the driver, fearing for his life, sprang off his
dray and left all to their fate. But a figure took his place
that thrilled Dennis' heart with horror.

There on the high seat stood Susie Winthrop—rather
Mrs. Learned. The light of insanity glowed in her eyes;
her long hair swept away to the north, and turning toward

the fiery tempest she bent forward as if looking for some
one. But after a moment she sadly shook her head, as if
she had sought in vain. Suddenly she reached out her
white arms toward the fire, and sang clear and sweet
above the horrid din:

At this moment a blazing brand fell upon the horses'
heads; they started forward, and the crazed lady fell over
on the corpse below. The animals being thoroughly terrified
turned sharp around on the sidewalk, and tore their
way right toward the fire, trampling those down in their
track, and so vanished with their strangely assorted load.

Dennis, fearing to stay any longer where he was, determined
to follow in their wake and find a street leading to
the north less choked, even though it might be nearer
the fire, and so with his trembling companion he pressed
forward again.

Two blocks below he found one comparatively clear,
but in terrible proximity to the conflagration. Indeed, the
houses were burning on each side, but the street seemed
clear of flame. He thought that by swiftly running they
could get through. But Christine's strength was fast failing
her, and just as they reached the middle of the block
a tall brick building fell across the street before them!
Thus their only path of escape was blocked by a blazing
mass of ruins that it would have been death to cross.

They seemed hemmed in on every side, and Dennis
groaned in agony.

Christine looked for a second at the impassable fiery
barrier, then at Dennis, in whose face and manner she

read unutterable sympathy for herself, and the truth flashed
upon her.

With a piercing shriek she fainted dead away in his
arms.