CHAPTER XXXII.
"A BRAND FROM THE BURNING."
There is a cry of alarm in the street below. The fire has broken throughthe roof, and so revealed itself to some late passer-by.
"Fire! fire! fire!"
Soon the space before the doomed building is swarming with peoplerunning, vociferating, cursing, jesting. Drunken men are there, haggardwomen, dirty, ragged children, who clap their hands and shout excitedlyat this splendid spectacle.
"The flames rise and spread; the door of the closet hasfallen in, and now he feels their hot breath."--page 234.]
It is useless to attempt to save the old tenement; they realize that.But its occupants--They have heard the alarm, and they come outhurriedly, _en deshabille_, pushing and dragging the children,screaming, and cursing each other and the world.
All on the lower floor are then safe. But the upper floor, and itsoccupants?
"Fire! fire! fire!"
No signs of life above stairs. No terrified faces at the windows. Noflying forms down the rickety stairway. No cries for help from among thefast-spreading flames.
"Fire! fire! fire!"
They hear the tinkle of bells, the gallop of speeding hoofs upon thepavement.
"Ah!" cries an on-looker, "the fire boys are coming!"
"Too late, they are," growls another; "too late, as usual."
The engine approaches; and from the opposite direction comes a man,running swiftly, panting heavily, almost breathless.
The roof is all ablaze now; in a moment the rafters will have fallen in.
The panting new-comer stops suddenly before the door of the burningtenement, and glances sharply about. Near him is a half-dazed woman whohas rushed to the rescue, as frightened women will, with a pail of waterin her unsteady hand. The man leaps toward her, seizes the pail, dashesits contents over his head and shoulders, and plunging through thedoorway, disappears up the stairs.
"Stop! Come back!"
"What a fool!"
"That's the end of _him_!"
The on-lookers shout and scream. Exclamations, remonstrance, pity,ridicule--all find voice, and are all lost upon the daring adventureramong the flames.
The engine rushes up; the firemen spring to their work: useless effort.Nobody thinks of them, or what they do; all eyes are on the blazingupper story, all thoughts for the man who is braving the flames.
A crash from aloft; a cry from the multitude. The roof is falling in,and the gallant rescuer--ah! he is doomed.
But no; a form comes reeling out from among the smoke and fire tongues,comes staggering and swaying beneath a burden which is almost too muchfor his strength.
Then a triumphant yell rises from the multitude. They seize upon rescuedand rescuer, and bear them away from the heat and danger. How theyscream and crowd; how they elbow and curse; how they exclaim, as theybend over these two refugees from a fiery death!
The rescuer has sunk upon the ground, half suffocated and almostinsensible; but all eyes are fixed upon the rescued, for he is bound,gagged and blindfolded!
What is he? Who is he? Why is he thus? They are filled with curiosity;here is a mystery to solve. For the moment the gallant rescuer isforgotten, or only remembered as they seek to avoid trampling upon himin their eagerness to obtain a view of the greater curiosity.
They tear off the fetters of the late prisoner. They wrest the bandagefrom his eyes. They remove the gag from his mouth. Then curiosityreceives a fresh stimulus; exclamations break out anew.
"It's a nigger!"
"No; look here!"
"Hello, he's been playin' moke!"
"He's been blacked!"
"Look at his clothes, boys."
"Jerusalem! he's been robbed."
Then they begin their efforts to bring him to his senses; partly forhumanity's sake, quite as much that they may gratify their curiosity.
"He's dead, I reckon."
"No; only smothered."
"Stand back there; give us air."
"Let's have some water."
"No, brandy."
"Look; he's coming to."
He is "coming to". He shudders convulsively, gropes about with his handsand feebly raises his head. Then respiration becomes freer; he draws ina deep breath, sits up and looks about him. He is bewildered at first;then memory reasserts herself. He sees the now almost-demolishedtenement, the crowd of eager faces, and notes the fact that he is free,unfettered. He rises to his feet, and unmindful of the questions eagerlypoured upon him, gazes slowly about him.
At last two or three policemen have appeared upon the scene. He shakeshimself loose from the people about him, and strides toward one of thesefunctionaries; Van Vernet is himself again.
"A form comes reeling out from among the smoke andfire-tongues, staggering beneath a burden."--page 237.]
The eyes of the crowd follow his movements in amazement. They see himspeak a few words in the ear of one of the officers; see that worthybeckon to a second, and whisper to him in turn. And then, leaning uponthe arm of officer number one, and following in the wake of officernumber two, who clears the way with authoritative waves of his magicclub, he passes them by without a word or glance, and soon, with hisdouble escort, is lost in the darkness, leaving the throng baffled,dissatisfied and, more than all, astounded.
"And he never stops to ask who saved him!" cries a woman's shrill voice.
"Oh, the wretch!"
"What shameful ingratitude!"
And now their thoughts return to the rescuer, the gallant fellow who hasrisked his life to save an ingrate.
But he, too, is gone. In the moment when their eyes and their thoughtswere following Vernet, he has disappeared.