 | CHAPTER XXXV.
THE MATCH ON THE ICE. Antony Brade |  |
35. CHAPTER XXXV.
THE MATCH ON THE ICE.
“The Great Middle Class,” the self-confident Third
Form, had got the Fourth to join them, and had challenged
the rest of the School, at hockey, on Lake Thrash;
and the school was eager to “stop the bragging of those
everlasting Thirds.” Stores of hockey-sticks had been
laid in; Blake making much fun with his queer-looking
set, and Towne much show of his, while Gaston bragged
of one favorite that it was “tough as the oak on Alpine
heights, that wrestles with the winds, this way and that,
at ipsa hœret scopulis.”
The boys had not been to the lake since the beginning
of the rain; but there had been a day or two of
steady freezing.
The day, as we have seen, was splendid; and nothing
that had happened, or “might, could, would, or
should” happen, was to hinder or hamper the sport of
that afternoon. All day the flags were flying on the
boat-houses at the lake. All day the whole landscape
— beautiful as it was, with ups and downs, and sweeping,
wooded dales — was sending back to the sun, from
its smooth, icy crust, a dazzling splendor. No wind
was blowing, and the steady cold seemed breaking
again.
The match was to come off at two o'clock, precisely.
that, “whoever was not on the spot, it was his own
loss.” Dinner was hurried, as we may suppose, and but
half eaten, and then, in troops, the boys went down,
the smallest ones, of course, leading the rest. All were
merry as kids and kittens.
One company, in which are Will Hirsett, Wilkins,
Dover, Ransom, and Wadham, Second, are rehearsing
the more eminent attractions.
“Ned Prouty is to be there with his French horn;”
and “there's to be the biggest bonfire that was ever
seen, — Mr. Stout has carried down ever so much cordwood;”
and “there's to be coffee, and chocolate, and
lemonade, just as people like.” “Do you hear that?
There's Prouty! There ain't a man in the United
States can beat him!”
Our readers, to have the scene well before them, must
remember that one of the chief beauties of this lake
abounding in beauties (may ruthless and tasteless road-makers
never spoil it!) is St. Bart's Bay. To make this,
the western shore, at less than half a mile's distance
from the northern, trends away, rounding Crystal Point;
and then the bay, or cove, sets in for three-quarters of
a mile to the westward. The southern or further shore
of this bay is winding and wooded, with granite cliffs
half-way toward the west, and then a beach. The northern
shore winds less. On this, and about as far from
the west as Crystal Point, stand the boys' boat-houses.
The scene now lies before us. Yonder up the bay, and
over, near the southern shore, are people gathering. On
the road, along the western end, can be descried horses
and sleigh-loads of people; and there are janglings and
tinklings of sleigh-bells on the way. From the lake
air; and there are boys, we may be sure, busy as ants,
feeding and fanning the flames.
A line of flags, on short staves, stretches across from
inside of Boat-house-pier to the shore inside of Crystal
Point.
From the far gathering comes, now and then, a single
living note or two of Prouty's French horn, as if
thrown out to stir and waken, as they do, the merriment
and happiness of every thing about.
“What flag is that?” asked Russell, as soon as the
turn on the lake-path brought the boat-houses into
sight. “There's the Caput, already!”
“Why, that's the old Admiral's bunting!” said Blake.
“Don't you see the S. B. and the dagger?”
“No, no,” said Russell. “I don't mean that: what's
that one over the `eight-oar'? I never saw it before.
It wasn't there this morning.”
“That's Peters's,” said Meadows, who was within
hearing. “His mother made it for the Rosicrucian
Nine; and they're going to wear their red-cross shirts
to-day. It's all silk.”
Russell spoke again: —
“Now, see here, fellows! just at this turn, where
nobody can help seeing, we've got a sign up, `WARNING!
Look out and don't go east of the flags, for
your life!' Mr. Folsom made us ten of 'em, and
we've got some on the flag-staffs, and some all round.
There's been notice given twice in school, and we've
got to do it again down here. Has Brade come down
yet? He's got the ball.”
“Maybe he feels badly about this morning, and won't
come,” said Hutchins.
“Poh! That isn't the stuff he's made of, let me tell
you,” answered Blake. “Mr. Parmenter don't get over
it so easy, I bet you! Wa'n't the Caput wrathy?”
“Brade was mad: who wouldn't be?” said Russell.
“But when he found everybody knew he was right, he
didn't care. Now, fellows, the sun lies too much on our
side of the bay; we've got to work over toward the other
shore, so we've had the floats[1]
from the boat-houses,
and any thing else we could get, carried over that way
for seats and standing. Look at the spectators! All
Eastham 'll be down, you see if they don't. Call all
the fellows up here, will you? Where's Prouty?”
Straightway began all manner of calls and cries, for
Prouty was over near the other side; but the boys
gathered as dutifully as bees to kindred music.
“There's a squad of fellows coasting down that bank!
call 'em, Walters, will you?” said Russell, whose eye
was, as it ought to be, over the whole field of sight.
“The Caput's there, and Mr. Bruce and Mr. Hamersley;
and there's Mr. Manson; and there are the Wadhams,
and Mr. Parmenter, and Dr. Farwell, and lots of 'em.
Now, fellows, look here!” he said, as the boys on this
side of the lake gathered, “there isn't any safety outside
of the line from here to Crystal Point, because
they've been cutting ice. The place is all up in our
bay; and then we've got to go away over to the other
side to get out of the sun. (Wilkins! don't make such
a noise, please, we're laying down the rules again, and
the lives of some fellows may depend upon it. Everybody's
got to listen.) Now, we've got four base-ball
where Lamson's looking at 'em.) Nobody's to go outside
of that line to the eastward; inside there's no danger.
If you see anybody undertaking to pass that line,
knock him down! Now we've got seven minutes to
get over there and begin.”
A shout followed Russell's laying down of the law,
showing the School's acquiescence in the requirements
of recognized authority. The sound of Ned Prouty's
horn came, smooth, and clear, and inspiring, across the
ice. A Scots tune, — “Come through the heather!
Around him gather! Ye're a' the welcomer early,” and
so on, Prouty was playing; and away the boys went, large
and small, Russell, and Blake, and Walters, no less than
Hirsett, and Wilkins, and Meadows, and lesser ones, to
the edge of the ice, and put on their skates, and were
off to see which would come first to the ground. Prouty
was beginning Yankee Doodle.
“There's Brade, now!” cried some of the hindmost,
who began beckoning with hands, and arms, and hats,
and caps, to hurry the loiterers, — two or three boys
who were now doing their best to make up for lost
time.
Yankee Doodle, well played, is enough, almost, to
set the very trees off their standing. The boys from
the edge of the lake were all scampering over the ice
toward the further side, after giving their last shout to
Brade and his friends to hurry; and, hurry-scurry down
the hill, come the three laggards.
They near the bend in the boat-house path, by which
the warning-board is set, in full sight; and Peters cries
out, in triumph, —
“There she is! Look at her! Isn't the red cross a
beauty!”
They all look over at the flags.
Peters was strongly inclined to linger and admire;
but there was no time. Panting, they all agreed, as
they ran, that the red cross was the handsomest flag in
the School.
“There's the Caput, and everybody!” cried Brade,
panting. “Down with us!”
Ned Prouty's music came as fresh and clear across
the lake as if on its way it had gathered sparkle and
tinkle from the frozen water; and it seemed to be
joined by accordant notes from hill and dale.
The three late-comers are at the bank. An inarticulate
noise of voices from the further side comes to their
ears, and they can understand it, without distinguishing
a word, to be a call, from fifty tongues, to hurry.
One or two boys set off from the crowd to meet them.
“If it hadn't been for this ball!” said Brade; and he
held up to be seen, if it might, at the other side, the
ball which he had in charge.
“Plaguy thing!” said Peters. “Long enough we
looked for it!”
“Play's called! They're at it now! Those fellows
are going back!” cried Remsen; and, in an instant, the
three were on the lake.
The French horn had ceased to play.
“There it goes!” said Brade, who tripped at the
edge of the ice, and lost the ball from his hand. The
ball skimmed over the smooth surface, and the loser
started after it. Remsen, as he put on his skates, called
out, —
“Look out for thin ice!”
Peters started up. “Where's the line?” he cried,
frightened, and set off, without his skates, as Brade was,
as to have touched it with his hockey-stick, but, failing
to catch it, he had, of course, given it a new start.
Now, from the other side, came one far shout, whose
words were indistinguishable. Then arose an inarticulate
din, and a rush. Peters called to Brade to stop,
but followed on himself as fast as he could run on the
glossy level, still shouting. The din from the crowd
became an uproar.
“I've got it!” cried Brade; and at the very instant
there was a sound of rending of the ice in all directions,
and a dreadful plunge, and the boy was in the lake,
where the water was deep enough to float a ship of
the line like a leaf.
The din, which had been continually drawing nearer,
suddenly became an utter stillness, as if the splash in the
deadly water had swallowed up every living soul, except
one figure not far away from the frightful scene,
and one among the on-lookers afar.
Peters uttered a shriek, and for an instant faltered.
A terrible cry of agony, in a girl's voice, clear as the
track of lightning through the air, and leaving a stillness
as utter as is the blackness after the flash, came from
the bay.
“Stop, Peters!” shouted the Caput's voice; “and
everybody that can't help, do keep away! Keep back!
Keep back! Where are the floats?”
Mr. Parmenter appeared at his best here, and was
quick and business-like. He sent for medical men; he
sent for ropes. Everybody was eager to help, — to go
or stay. Horses and sleighs were ready; lives, — every
thing.
Peters half turned his head; but all along now he
rush headlong a single heedless step, and yet he hurried
forward, bending over, steadied by his hockey-stick,
and peering at the ice as he went, and never
taking off his eyes from the faithless and dangerous
ground on which he was setting his feet.
Shouts that he could not have failed to hear called
him by name. He never turned; he never gave the
least heed. Every thought, and all his life, seemed
to be given to the one thing that he was doing.
A gasping, choking cry came from the drowning
boy; and the noise of ice breaking again and again, as
Brade, in his struggle to save himself out of death, in
which he was already, clutched again and again the
treacherous water's crust. Peters groaned.
“Keep up! keep up!” he shouted. “I'll help” (the
word he was so fond of), and, never lifting his eyes
from the ice, he went on.
Now, suddenly, he changes his way; and, never stopping,
goes down, full length, upon the ice, and pushing
his hockey-stick before him, works himself forward
with his left hand, slowly perhaps, but he has not far
to go.
“Catch hold of me! Remsen! some one!” he cried,
working himself forward.
By this time the noise from all sides had gathered,
till it had become like the roar of the sea. Some sounds
might be distinguished; but there was one that made
itself felt, as if it were from the very soul of the scene,
— a pleading cry from that girl's voice, which had been
heard before.
Meantime, and all the while, the mass of human life
that was near this struggle with sudden death was
to the rescue. Dr. Evans and Dr. Mott, of Weston,
had been sent for by Mr. Parmenter. It seemed long,
long; but it was only two or three minutes since the
boy had broken through. There had been a half mile
to come over; but the rush to the rescue had begun
the moment that Brade started the wrong way from the
shore.
“Catch hold!” cried one of the foremost of those
who were running upon the ice, but still a little way
off. He seemed to be repeating Peters's call.
It was the new tutor, Mr. Hamersley, deathly pale.
He stripped himself of his outer coat, as he ran, and
let it fall.
“Make a line of men, right here, at these flags!”
said Rector Warren, assisted by Mr. Parmenter and
others, who all were near enough now to help.
“The ropes are coming,” said Mr. Parmenter, beckoning
to bring them.
There was a hurried sound of trampling and of sleigh-bells
close at hand, and a confused shout, and the line
opened. A horse came through, and behind him, on a
large boat-house-float, to which he was harnessed, was
Mr. Stout, with three or four boys. Others of the
Tutors, too, were close by to give their help.
Mr. Hamersley, following Peters's plan, had already
gone down flat upon the ice, and was working himself
forward, as Peters had done; but the leader was still
many yards ahead, and working on.
Oh, what a sight it was! Amid the broken floes of
ice, Brade's head could be descried, and his arms, laying
themselves on one support after another, which
gave way as he tried it. A sort of drowning moan
came from him.
“Here! Here!” cried Peters; and Brade struck out
for him. The hooked stick, thrust out ahead, was nearing
the water; but the ice broke, as Brade put up his
arms upon it. The haggard boy already looked like
one belonging to The Dead.
“I'm coming, Peters, — brave boy!” said Mr. Hamersley.
Without a single word, but with his lips set fast
together, Mr. Stout had unhitched his horse, as soon as
he got a little way clear of the throng, and had given
him in charge to Lamson, to lead back. Between the
silent man and the three silent boys who stayed with
him (Remsen was one, and Blake was one, and Towne
was one), there seemed a perfect understanding. All
four worked together as instantly as if they had a single
will, and had done this same work many a time
before. The Rector of the School came up. He saw
that all was going well, and, saying nothing, joined himself
to the party, looking agonizingly towards the fatal
struggle, and laying hold, with the foremost, of one of
the fasts of the float, to urge it forward.
“One o' them ropes! from Prouty!” said Mr. Stout,
briefly, to Blake; “and follow right up!” The kindly
French-horn-player was already near.
Before the words could have been understood, the
Rector had rushed toward the advancing messengers,
and in another moment was back again, close upon the
light raft of boards now sliding fast over the glossy ice
to the danger, and had flung a coil of rope upon the
middle of it.
There was a great noise of men's and women's voices,
and yet there were those who marked the frightful,
haggard face of Kate Ryan, as, yielding and trusting to
him.
But a cry suddenly goes up, — “He's got him!” and a
sort of unthinking start forward was made by the
crowd, but instantly checked.
Peters's hook seemed to have caught Brade's clothing,
or to have been grappled by the drowning boy.
Some sound was made by Peters, as if he would speak;
but no words were heard. Mr. Hamersley pushed himself
forward.
“Hold on! hold on, Peters!” he said, — “hold on!”
“That other boy ought to be stopped!” the crowd
shouted; but Peters heeded nothing but his purpose.
Mr. Stout, with his crew, had never halted or hesitated
for the twinkling of an eye.
“Now, Blake, there's new ice,” he said. “You and
I stay back” (all the while he was fastening a rope with
a long free end to the front part of the float, then going
to the back and making a running noose there).
“Towne!” — he began.
Another of the fatal crackings of the ice was heard,
and Peters was in the ice-cold water! A shout of
horror went up from those who were looking on and
could not help. Again a start was made by the crowd;
but it was checked.
Mr. Stout cast one glance. “Be we all going in?”
he said; but his hands kept about their business all
the time.
“Stop that man! Don't let anybody else be drowned!”
shouted the crowd.
“Bring on your raft!” called Mr. Hamersley, now
rising to hands and knees, and so still making his way
forward, almost as if he were running.
“O great and loving God! Help! help! for Jesus's
sake!” cried Rector Warren, baring his head, and flinging
his arms forth.
“Amen! Lord! Lord!” cried many a voice.
“Where's that other float?” Mr. Stout called, as he
finished with the first. “Towne, you and Remsen
must do it now. Down on your bellies!” (it was done
before it was said) “I won't tie you; trust to your grip,
if the world goes, and look to God!” said Mr. Stout.
The boys were off, shoving the raft from behind,
while Mr. Stout and Blake “paid out” the rope, flinging
the end back to be grasped by those behind, — the
first of whom, of course, was the most interested, Rector
Warren. “Wait, Hamersley!” he shouted.
A crash, and Tutor Hamersley was in the icy water,
as if of his own will. He did not sink, and, to the horror
of the lookers-on, his was the only head to be seen
among the floes.
“Keep your fast grip!” said Mr. Stout, in a clear,
low voice. “Cling to your raft!” and so the boys
pushed forward, and the rope slid through his hand.
Already Mr. Wilson and others had brought a second
float, and made it ready. The Rector seized and helped
it forward. Mr. Parmenter expostulated against his
running needless risks; but, with his hired men, helped.
The Tutor struck out among the floating ice, and
grappled something.
“Now, now!” he cried.
“Now!” said the crowd, “on with your raft!”
Remsen and Towne pushed forward bravely. Mr.
Hamersley seized their raft, and got one elbow up upon
it. Instantly Mr. Stout called to his boys to back
away, and they came safely out.
Meanwhile, with both hands and his one free arm,
Mr. Hamersley strove to heave a senseless, heavy mass
out of the water. The second raft went forward, a
little way off.
“Here, boys!” said Mr. Stout, shoving with his foot
a piece of scantling. “Tilt your float up with this, and
while you're doing it keep tight hold to your raft!”
Even while he was speaking to them, he flung a rope
to Mr. Hamersley. Then to the boys, again: “Now
prize it up, further along; but look out and hold tight!”
he added.
The work went on as fast as speech almost, and yet
the time seemed to be wasting.
“Quick! quick! can't anybody help him?” said
the crowd.
Beloved and esteemed as Brade was, the persevering
heroism of the boy who had fearlessly, and not at all
unwisely, but thoughtfully, bestowed his life to save the
other, had so impressed all witnesses that a cry went
up, “Have you got Peters? Is it Peters?”
The lifting and sloping of the raft was not all that
was wanted; but yet it helped the faithful worker in
that chilling water.
“Haul! haul!” he cried out, huskily.
There seemed a great throb in the air from the crowd,
and a low sobbing, as from one man, while the soaked,
heavy, lifeless mass was dragged over the cracking
ice.
“Brade! Brade!” said the crowd.
“Now one tremendous shove! with all your might!”
cried Rector Warren, whose movements had been little
noticed, but who was working in a sort of frenzy. As
the new float darted forward, he flung himself at full
not give way.
“Who's saving that man?” cried the crowd. “He
can't live there.”
“Get Hamersley out!” said Dr. Evans, who had just
come, “or you'll have another patient for me. Take
this boy carefully, and carry him gently. Don't jolt
him. As fast as you can go, and go gently. The
School's the nearest place.”
Ned Prouty took the heavy, dripping mass like a
baby, and bore it tenderly. Remsen and others followed.
Mr. Stout kept steadily at his work, without a word;
and, before the poor boy's body had been taken off, its
rescuer had been dragged to solid ice, sinking, and
shivering, and shaking, livid and nearly dead, but
mindful enough to gasp a single word, “Peters!”
Two of his brother-tutors bore him off.
Now all thoughts were turned to Peters.
The Rector of the School, on hands and knees,
peered for an instant from the float, which had been
checked just as it reached the edge, and then threw
himself in among the floating cakes of ice and struck
out definitely.
“He sees the other!” was the cry of strangers. Many
said, “He's after Peters!”
He had got something, and among cakes of ice made
his way back and got the rope in some way fastened
round his burden, then helped it up.
“Remember bones and flesh, men! pull easy!” said
Mr. Stout; and the neighbors were gentle and tender
enough. It was drawn out as fast as a heavy and
jointed body could be drawn out of the water, and
was in their hands in a moment.
There was no crowding or rudeness. There was no
cry, as there had been before. The crowd of neighbors
held themselves back; the boys kept a little aloof.
“There's a hero, if ever anybody was!” said Mr.
Stout, still working. No one else spoke; but there was
a reverent and tender way about all, which showed that
they all thought one thing.
“It isn't the first brave thing he's done,” said Blake,
with tears in his eyes.
Mr. Stout's float was shoved out to the Rector without
an instant's delay.
As the Red Cross came to sight, on Peters's bosom,
Towne said, kindly, “Those flags ought to be half-mast!”
but Blake said, “I wouldn't fuss with 'em; I
believe that's death!” Russell approved.
As they bore off the body, tenderly and reverently,
the Rector, with help, followed. Mr. Parmenter's sleigh
was ready for him; but it seemed best that he should
walk; and so, with help, he followed the bearers up
the hill.
The crowd broke up. Many followed; many lingered;
many went sadly from the gloomy spot, in
different directions across the ice.
Mr. Stout steadily gathered up the ropes; gave to
some of the men, who offered themselves freely, a few
directions about gathering the property together and
putting it back; then glanced at the fire, blazing alone
upon the ice, and the flags flying for the holiday, and
turned to go.
“It's my opinion,” said he, “if there'd ben another
have been here alive.”
“You mean Remsen?” asked Towne, who had
waited, silently.
“I don't say that, but if there'd been somebody to
follow up. But — 'tis so, and I suppose 'twas meant
to be so.”
| CHAPTER XXXV.
THE MATCH ON THE ICE. Antony Brade | |