 | CHAPTER XX. El Fureidîs |  |
20. CHAPTER XX.
El Fureidîs was now a scene of confusion and dismay.
An indistinct murmur of fear and lamentation went up
from the mountain-side. But there was no huddling together
in crowds, no universal watchword of alarm, no
crying upon one another for help. Each peasant was
engaged heart and hand for the salvation of his own little
household and domain. The earthquake had subsided,
but still the work of destruction went on.
The great law of cohesion seemed to have been subverted,
and matter to have been suddenly set adrift. Here
a clay roof had parted at one extremity, and a stream
of mud and water was pouring in; there a terrace-wall
had fallen, gardens of vegetation had been driven down
the slope, and were heaped in the form of rubbish upon
the lower court-yards and house-tops. In one or two instances,
stone dwellings had been precipitated upon those
below, and the occupants had barely escaped with their
lives. For the most part loose soil only was swept from
its place, and the houses stood firm upon their foundations;
but the undermining process was going on insidiously, and
the unhappy villagers were distracted between the contending
claims of person and property,—all knowing that
life and limb were at stake,—none willing to sacrifice
the chance of still propping up their roofs and walls, and
saving some portion at least of their worldly goods.
“Each man for himself,” was the necessary motton, where
all were victims of a common disaster. It was an exception
to the general rule, then, that two individuals should
be seen at this crisis hastening in one direction. The
taller and manlier of the two ran at full speed,—now
and then looking back, and in breathless tones uttering
some word to the other, who followed with a rapidity
which sprang from respect to authority rather than any
voluntary impulse.
“I tell you, Asaad,” exclaimed the former, “your master
is incapable of giving any orders. You are a man
of reason, are you not?”
“I trust so, Howadji, for it is reason which tells me,
that to open the sluice-ways is to let the lion in upon
the prey. I cannot expose my master's property.”
“And so you will suffer the water to run mad, you
will see the village swept to destruction, rather than take
a bold step and save it? What a dastard you are, man!
I tell you, the blood of these people will be on your
head.”
“But the factory! the factory!” persisted Asaad, stopping
short, and wringing his hands; for he saw determination
in the Englishman's face, and fear and irresolution were contending
in his soul. “We all depend on the factory for
our daily bread.”
“Depend on the factory! pshaw!” cried Meredith, angrily;
“every one depends on himself,—or ought to!
Besides, dead men eat no bread; and on my soul, I believe
there is but one chance for life here to-night.
Be a man, Asaad, and do the work of a man, for by
Heaven—”
He stopped short, foot and tongue at the same instant
arrested, eye and ear strained, and his heart spellbound.
and speaking now in a tone of mingled horror, triumph,
and reproach, “a woman has done it for you!”
As soldiers rushing to a conflict would feel themselves
impotent and overawed, should they behold an angel fighting
in the van of their army, so these two men stood trembling
and agliast at the scene which presented itself to their
upturned gaze.
Like a wild beast loosened from long confinement, the
unchained waters were dashing over the fall and hurrying
down the channel, while upright, amid the rush, the roar,
and the spray, stood one clothed all in white, who might
have been deemed a vaporous water-spirit, sent thither to
allay the flood. Her garments were fluttering over the
verge of the fall, her foot seemed to rest on the gliding
torrent, her form was showered by the foam. The golden
moonlight glorified her, imagination lent her wings,—yet
she was a mortal thing, endued with immortal powers only
as matter yields to mind when the spirit is in the ascendant.
Her slight arm might, otherwise, have sought in vain to
stir the massive bar and to raise the ponderous lever; but
God and a great motive gave her strength, and she had
done the work of a man and a deliverer.
It was a moment of awful and intense excitement. She
had opened the only safety-valve; danger was finding vent
through its natural channel; yet the relief was but partial
and gradual, the crisis pressing and imminent.
Havilah stood for a moment watching the result of her
resolute and courageous act. “It is pouring out fast,” was
her triumphant thought, as she saw the tide rush beneath
her feet. “Will it prove a salvation? God knows!” and
she lifted her face upward in devout appeal; then, becoming
conscious of her own perilous position, she turned slowly
It required a steady eye and foot to tread the narrow beam,
which was the connecting link between herself and the margin
of the stream. She had stepped out upon the solitary
timber, without a shudder, when hastening to lift the bolt at
the extremity, just above the fall; but the pent-up waters
were comparatively quiet then, now the beam was resfing
above the surface of a tumultuous flood, and the bewildering
roar caused her heart to quail a little, as, putting one
foot carefully before the other, she swayed her light form,
and endeavored to preserve her balance.
The first step gave her confidence, however; she looked
away from the fall, kept her eye on the shore, and in a moment
more would have set foot on the bank, when suddenly
the stone abutment to which the beam was riveted, and
which had been already insidiously undermined, gave way
beneath the pressure of the flood. Rock, earth, and masonry
were upheaved, the pier tottered, reeled, then shivered
into fragments, and the shore-end of Havilah's frail
support was left at the mercy of the current. As the iron
clamps which had been affixed to the masonry parted
with a shock, the extremity of the beam tilted up and
rocked so fearfully, that the figure of its dizzy occupant
was swayed to and fro like a willow twig tossed in the
breeze. Still she maintained her footing in the very centre
of the timber; she might even have made a few light
bounds and sprung from the raised end to the shore; but
before she could poise herself for the effort, or discern a
secure resting-place amid the wreck that strewed the bank;
the beam touched the surface of the torrent, and, whirled
by the force of the rushing tide, was drifted out at such an
angle as to bring its extremity to the very verge of the fall,
and place a fearful abyss between Havilah and the shore,
waste-gate; but the violent impetus, which swept the timber
into its oblique position across the current, had the
effect of instantly wrenching it from its remaining fastenings,
thus setting the frail bark, with its solitary voyager, at
the mercy of the cruel element. Destruction seemed gaping
for its prey; but there was yet one more obstacle to the
timber's fatal leap, in the shape of a jutting point of rock,
which, rearing itself in the rapids just above the fall, caught
the beam in its progress, and held it for an instant suspended
at right angles with the stream.
It was but a momentary salvation, a mere balancing
between life and death. Havilah stood erect, scarce conscious
of her awful peril, but with a figure stiffened into
rigidity by the instinctive impulse to resist the force which
thus far had carried her helpless along. There seemed
not a possible chance for her rescue; but love that is
stronger than death was ready to challenge fate, and the
critical moment had come.
With a vague sense of apprehension and terror, Meredith
had scaled the bank opposite to that from which Havilah
had come out upon the stream. Startled by the crash
of the falling abutment, he had breathlessly mounted the
waste-gate and gained its terminating point above the fall
just in time to see the hoped-for communication cut off,
and the pale victim whom he had sprung to save whirled
round, equidistant from himself and the shore. It was a
fearful crisis, but no time for hesitancy or doubt. Now,
then, young athlete of the school and the university, now
for a trial in which there is no competitor! Eight feet
between yourself and the floating beam, as many more to
gain the shore, and a besom of wrath sweeping down on
either side! An instant, and the deed is done. It was
one bound Meredith vaulted upon the timber, which reeled
beneath his weight. The shock would have tossed Havilah
like a feather to the wave, but an iron arm was round her
waist. That grasp gave electrical force to her rescuer, the
impetus afforded by one successful effort lent him power for
a second desperate leap; the deserted timber floated over
the precipice, the Englishman and the girl stood in safety
on the shore.
It was all the work of a moment,—one of those wild,
incomprehensible moments, which one passes through unconsciously
at the time, but remembers with a shudder in
after years.
Havilah turned and looked up over her shoulder at Meredith,
who had not yet released her from his hold, looked
inquiringly, as one might look who, miraculously preserved
in time of peril, questions whether it be through the mediation
of man or angel. She saw, but did not thank him, did
not utter a word; there was not time. He had saved her
life; but what was one life where so many were at stake?
what but the opportunity for further action? Before he
could stay her, or question her motives, she was once more
beyond his reach; she had slid from his arm like a wreath
of mist, and had darted down the cliff. Silently, like a
spirit, she sped to her work; but as Meredith's startled
senses realized the direction she had taken, he could not
refrain from an utterance of despair, and the air rang with
“the cry of a strong man in his agony.”
It needed but a glance to reveal the fact that she had
been saved from one danger only to expose herself to
another equally hideous and alarming. Asaad had prophesied
truly. The factory buildings could not resist the
force of the flood; the crash of falling timbers and stones
another was giving way; the tall bell-tower had taken an
oblique inclination, and was tottering to its fall; the whole
structure must soon be a ruinous heap, and yet Havilah
had darted into its midst.
Meredith followed. In his one moment of uncertainty
and horror he had suffered her to gain the start of him, and
she was almost out of sight. Her white cloak fluttering in
the wind, served, however, as a signal to guide him. Now
it floated round the corner of the factory, then emerged at
the opposite angle; the shadow of the bell-tower obscured it
for a moment, it came out again on the little foot-bridge that
crossed the stream; here a massive boulder on the farther
bank hid it altogether from view, and when at length Meredith
gained the summit of the great rock, and looked about
him, the white signal was altogether wanting,—providentially
wanting, for now the Englishman paused, awaiting its
reappearance, and that pause saved him from a living burial.
The piers which sustained the factory-tower at the same
instant gave way, and the tall column fell with a fearful
crash. The stream was narrowed just opposite the silk-mill
by the very rock on which Meredith stood, and the
tower, taking a sidelong direction, fell across the flume,
partially obstructing the current, and scattering a storm
of rock on the opposite bank. Meredith's elevated position
proved his security from the heavier missiles of destruction;
but light fragments of brick and granite were
showered around him like hail, and he found himself
blinded by a thick cloud of dust and mortar, while his
ears were almost deafened by the crash of masonry and
by the clattering of huge masses of stone, which, escaping
from the ruinous pile, were rattling down into the valley.
Amid the obscure atmosphere and the tumult of sound, it
but in the very midst of the shock Meredith
realized the fact that there was safety where he stood,
destruction below,—there was deliverance for himself, but
where was Havilah?
The air was still thick with dust, the rocky avalanche
still in motion, when Meredith rushed in amid the chaos.
His foot sunk in loose heaps of mortar; his very breath,
and the stirring of the air as he passed, seemed to start
some trembling stone and send it rumbling down the hill-side.
He glanced anxiously from right to left, shuddering
at the thought of the dread revelation which might be in
store for him. The air cleared as he went on; he had left
the heavier heaps of rubbish behind him; for a few steps
the moon shone on his path, and he could see his way;
then came a space in deep shadow, and here, running at
the top of his speed, the young man encountered a sudden
obstacle. This impediment to his progress presented itself
in the form of a man, who, stationed just outside the old
olive-mill, had been beating his breast, uttering loud cries
and lamentations, and calling upon Heaven for help.
“Who are you? what is the matter?” cried Meredith,
as he assisted in raising the individual whom he had
thrown down and stumbled over in the impetuosity of his
onset. “Have you seen the master's daughter? Has Havilah
passed this way?” he hastily continued, as he set the
poor man upon his feet.
“Good God! it is the Howadji,” exclaimed the man in
the whining tones which Meredith at once recognized as
those of the old miller. “O sir! sir! we are accursed of
the Lord; the mountains are falling upon us, and the hills
covering us. Help us! for the love of Heaven, help us!”
“The master's daughter, man!” cried Meredith, with an
say?”
“Have I seen her, the pretty saint? Yes! yes! Howadji!
She went by me like a falling star. But she will not
come back. The rose will be crushed, and my rose-buds too,
—my beautiful ones all asleep on their pillow. O sir! could
not you save them? You are a young man; you are
strong. Listen to an old man's prayer!” And he threw
himself on the ground, and clasped the Englishman's knees.
Meredith extricated himself; and, impatient of this
human clog, thrust him aside, exclaiming emphatically,
“Which way? Answer me that, and no more,—which
way?”
“O there!—there!” ejaculated the miller, pointing to
his own cottage, a few rods lower down, overshadowed by
the ancient mill,—“there, under the fig-tree, where my roof
has fallen in. Havilah is there, and my babes; and the
stones have sunk, and the walls are rent, and the house will
be buried under the falling mill! It is going!—ah, I
know it!—and my sweet ones will find a grave under the
roof that these hands have raised,—and Havilah too!
And I have sent that young Frank to perish with them. May
the Lord forgive me!”
The old man was soliloquizing, for the Englishman had
obeyed the first motion of his informant's finger, and had
left him to tear his hair alone, and pour out his lamentations
to the wind.
Meredith approached the hut, fear whispering to him
that he might find it but a tomb. The rear end of the little
rectangular building rested against the wall of the terrace,
which formed the foundation of the mill, a perilous support
enough, but one which thus far stood firm. The next terrace
below had fallen in, however,—the cottage rested on
an inclined plane, and its roof was gaping wide.
“Havilah! Havilah!” shouted Meredith, as he drew
near the mouth of the cavity, which looked as forbidding
and black as if it conducted to the bowels of the earth.
He was answered by something between a sigh and a
moan, and the sudden emerging of a head through the opening.
As he caught sight of a profusion of dark hair and a
fair young face, he gave a cry of joy, and, believing he had
discovered the object of his search, stretched out his single
arm,—the arm which was doing all his work to-night, for
the other was powerless. Thus aided, a little figure soon
soon appeared through the aperture,—the figure, not of
Havilah, but of one of those beautiful, rosy children born
among the Druse mountaineers.
“It is Kassim,” said a soft, juvenile voice, as the boy
scrambled to his feet.
Meredith's heart sank within him; but at the next breath
he caught the sound of a still sweeter voice from below,
saying, “Stand still there, Kassim, I will come in one moment.”
“One moment? come now, Havilah!” cried the young
man in the desperation of an intense anxiety,—an anxiety
which had reached its climax, for he could hear the creaking
of the mill above his head, and had already seen one of
its supports swept away by the flood.
There was no answer; and, resting his arm on one edge
of the ruptured roof, he sprang down the aperture.
He found himself in darkness, but groped his way towards
a feeble glimmering of light, and, passing through a
low, sunken door-way, entered a little shed, the outer wall of
which was rent from top to bottom, part having fallen outward
so as to admit the moonlight, the remainder forming a
heap of rubbish in one corner of the apartment. On this
heap stood Havilah. Both her arms were raised, and she
seemed vainly striving to lift some heavy weight.
“Havilah! dear child!” he shouted, forgetting everything
but his fears for her safety, “what are you doing
here? For Heaven's sake, come away!”
“O help me!” she cried, at once recognizing his voice,—
“help me! you are just in time.”
She was striving to dislodge a rafter which had fallen
crosswise against the inner wall of the shed. He instantly
placed his broad shoulder underneath the timber, and with
one effort dislodged it, revealing a stone niche in the wall,
in which were cradled two sleeping infants.
“They are there! they are safe! I was sure of it,” she
exclaimed, in tones of joy and thankfulness. “I did not let
the water in to be the death of you, my darlings; God be
praised! Hush! hush!” she continued, in the tenderest
accents,—for Meredith, in his impetuosity, had snatched
one of the children from its pillow, and it was shrieking
violently,—“hush, darling! it is Havilah.”
At the voice, and the sound of the familiar name, the
little creature sprang to her outstretched arms, nestled its
head in her bosom, and was comforted. Meredith, taught
by experience, lifted the other child carefully, without waking
it, and he and Havilah, each with an infant burden in
their arms, turned to depart.
But they were not permitted to go as they had come.
Their lives were destined to hang once more in the scales
of fate. They had passed through the low door-way, and
gained the principal, though nearly roofless apartment of
the dwelling, Meredith leading Havilah by the hand, when
the crisis came, and the overtopping mill fell headlong.
Can one define the sensations of him on whose head
the thunder-bolt bursts? Less easily can one paint the
emotions of those who had thus encountered chaos. It
was all expressed in the tumultuous thought, “Dead and
alive again! lost and found!”
They stood braced against the terrace wall, rigid and
still. The child in Havilah's arms clung to her neck, convulsed
with terror; Meredith held her hand as in a vice.
Ruin was heaped on ruin all around them, yet there they
stood unharmed. Brave old wall! The miller's handiwork
was stronger than the miller's faith; it had not crushed his
offspring,—it had saved them. A fragment of the mill, a
huge sheet of rafters and plastered stone, heavy enough to
have crushed a score of men, had commenced sliding down
the terraced stairway, had found a resting-place on the cottage
wall, and, sloping thence to a secure foundation on the
hill-side below, formed a solid roof of masonry, beneath
which, as in a pent-house, the group of refugees had found
a shelter.
The light made its way in at the farther extremity of
this impromptu cave. “Come on,” whispered Meredith, as
the awful din was succeeded by a stillness scarcely less
solemn; and he led the way. Havilah trod close upon
his footsteps. They climbed over mounds of rubbish,
scarcely venturing to breathe or look around them, so great
was their sense of the insecurity which attended every
motion. Not a stone, however, started from its foundation.
Hand in hand they silently groped their way, and at length
issued through a triangular opening into the moonlight.
A moment more, and they had passed beyond the line to
which the devastating storm had extended.
Havilah now turned back, and, as her eye discerned the
scene behind her, she faltered forth, “Poor Kassim!” The
spot where she had left the boy was a wilderness of heaped-up
stone.
“Perhaps he ran on and escaped,” said Meredith, at the
same time inwardly shuddering at the almost certain conviction
that the child was lost. “If not, he is beyond help.
stone shall be turned. I will see to it myself, but you and
these children must first be cared for.”
At this moment voices were distinctly heard,—cries of
fear, congratulation, and lament mingled in strange confusion,—cries
amid which joy became predominant, as a
little crowd of villagers appeared in sight, and at once
recognized Havilah. The emotion of thanksgiving was
mutual, for at the head of the throng came the miller,
with his little grandson Kassim in his arms. The boy,
following the warning of instinct, had made his way, unaided,
to the guardianship of the old man, whose wailing
tones had served as a call-bell to summon the little fellow
out of the reach of danger.
But grief is stronger than joy, and must have its way.
The shouts of congratulation would have been long in subsiding,
but they were speedily drowned by the frenzied
accents of a woman, who rushed into the circle shrieking
and crying for help. It was Hendia, the young wife of
Asaad, who, now beating her breast, then tossing her arms
in the air, implored succor and deliverance for her husband,
who was buried beneath his own roof-tree.
“He is not dead,” she said, “for he has spoken to me.
But heavy stones are on his chest, his breath is short; come
quickly Come and save him!”
“Now then, my men!” cried Meredith, placing the child
which he carried in the arms of a woman who stood near
him, “I have gold for every man who has an arm to spare.
On to the rescue of Asaad! Courage, Hendia, he shall
soon stand up with the best of us!”
It was no instantaneous feat, no miraculous work of salvation,
which was called for now. It was patient and almost
hopeless labor.
“Here! underneath this wall of stone! Impossible!” exclaimed
Meredith, as, running in advance of a ready gang
of followers, he stood beside Hendia, at the spot which she
indicated as that where her husband lay entombed.
“Yes! yes, Howadji! he is there, I have heard his voice.
I hear it now;”—and she laid her ear to a crevice in the
rocks and listened.
Meredith followed her example; apparently he was convinced
and encouraged, for, without a word, he commenced
rolling away the stones. A half-dozen men had soon rallied
to his aid. Under his direction they labored diligently
and well, his voice spurring them on, his single
arm serving as an iron wedge or an elastic lever, whenever
the work pressed hard. Havilah, meanwhile, endeavored
to soothe the wretched wife, who had thrown
herself upon the ground at a little distance, and was sobbing
hysterically.
“What shall I tell her? Is there any hope?” said a
voice at Meredith's elbow, when the work had been progressing
long but fruitlessly.
He looked round, saw Havilah, and shook his head.
“There is no sound from below,” he answered, speaking
low, lest he should discourage his men; “he has ceased
moaning. Speak to him yourself,” he added; “if he is alive,
he will know your voice.”
The perspiration was pouring down Meredith's face.
“Drink this,” said Havilah, placing a cup of wine in his
hand. “I have more here for your men,” she continued,
glancing at a little jug in her hand, as he looked compassionately
on his fellow-workmen, and seemed to hesitate. He
took the cup and drank. She placed her mouth against a
cavity in the rocks.
“He hears me,” she cried at length, springing to her
trying to throw off the load.”
It was true. The surface of the heap of stones was evidently
agitated by a force from below. The little crowd
(for half the village had by this time collected at the spot)
responded to this indication of life and strength on the part
of the sufferer by a round of cheers. The laborers, inspired
by hope, and each refreshed by a draught of wine, resumed
their efforts with new heart. Five minutes more, and Asaad
responded to their words of cheer by a succession of groans,
which, woful as they were, proved him to be free from the
risk of suffocation.
“Now, my men, all together,—one strong pull and we
have done!” exclaimed Meredith, as, shovelling away a mass
of earth and mortar, he disclosed a flat, slaty stone, against
whose weight Asaad was vainly struggling. They pried up
one end of the slab, heaved against it with united force,
hurled it back with a crash, which caused the by-standers to
beat a sudden retreat; and there, lodged between two similar
blocks, lay Asaad, crushed within the walls of his prison-house.
It was as if the coffin-lid were lifted, but the dead man
refused to rise. He lay still and speechless. Havilah
leaned over him, and poured a few drops of wine down his
throat. Hendia threw herself upon his bosom with frantic
cries. “He will revive,” said Father Lapierre, who had this
instant reached the spot; and kneeling beside the unfortunate
man, he pressed his hand upon his heart. “Take him up
gently, my sons, and carry him to the church; I will follow
you, and bring with me dressing for his wounds. You will
find I have other sufferers in my hospital; but there is
room for all.”
“The hand of the Lord is heavy upon us this night,
friend!” and with a gesture of surprise he held out his hand
to Meredith, “you see we have fallen upon evil days; but
we have much to be thankful for yet. The danger is past.
It has left the village in ruins; my people are houseless,
some of them are hurt; but let us thank God, he has not
suffered even one of our little ones to perish.”
A company of peasants now lifted the helpless Asaad
from the ground, and moved off; a part of the crowd,
actuated either by curiosity or sympathy, followed; the
remainder dispersed in different directions.
Havilah, anxious concerning her father, suffered M. Lapierre
to put her arm within his, and conduct her to his
cottage. Meredith was about to take the opposite direction,
but the missionary, prompted by a quick-breathed word
from Havilah, laid him under an imperative arrest.
“Stay, my young friend,” was the old pastor's sudden exclamation;
“you are a subject for my authority,”—and he
pointed to the sling and ill-adjusted bandage, to which his
attention had just been attracted. “I am going for lint and
ointment, then to my hospital on the hill. I cannot suffer
you out of my sight without the promise that you will meet
me there.”
Meredith gave his parole, and thus they separated.
| CHAPTER XX. El Fureidîs | |