by W. W. Jacobs
ENTRY NO. XIX
THE TORNADO
Early Monday morning Mr. Harding took a train for Oak Cliff, where hehad an appointment with Mr. Wilson. He made a remark to the effect thathis mission pertained more to business than golf. Mr. Wilson ispresident of the bank through which the "Harding System" transacts mostof its financial operations.
"You can do me a favour, if you will, Smith," he said. "I shall stayover night in Oak Cliff. We have visitors coming to Woodvale to-morrowevening, and I should be back here to dine with them by six o'clock.There is no train from Oak Cliff within hours of that time, and it hasoccurred to me that the folks might come for me in the red machine. Ofcourse the Kid thinks she can handle it, but I hate to trust her on solong and hilly a route. Could you come with them?"
An invitation was never accepted with more cheerful willingness. It wasarranged that Mrs. Harding, Miss Harding and I should arrive at OakCliff with the auto at about four o'clock Tuesday afternoon.
We were to start from Woodvale at half after one o'clock, so as to haveplenty of time. That Fate, which is always prying into and disarrangingthe plans of us poor mortals, interfered with our arrangements an hourbefore the time fixed for our departure. The visitors who were to arrivein the evening came shortly after noon. It was exasperating.
I pictured myself making that long trip alone, and cursed the chatteringarrivals who had the bad form to anticipate the hour set for theirwelcome. There were three of them, and I noticed that they were ofmature years.
I sat glumly watching them and heartily wishing that the train whichbrought them had been blocked for an hour or two, when Miss Harding camesmilingly towards me.
"Mamma cannot go," she said.
"And you?" I asked, hardly daring to hope for the best.
"They seemed glad to excuse me, Jacques Henri," she laughed.
I have no doubt I grinned like a Cheshire cat. I refrained from tellingthe abominable falsehood that I was sorry Mrs. Harding could not go withus, and an hour later the huge touring car rolled smoothly away from theWoodvale club house, its front seat occupied by a supremely happygentleman of the name of Smith, and by his side a supremely pretty younglady who waved her hand to the elderly group on the veranda.
I had been so absorbed in the unfolding of the incidents just narratedthat I took no note of the weather or of anything else. For a month ormore the weather has been so uniformly fine that we had come to acceptthe succession of warm but cloudless days as a matter of course.
When I was a boy my father drilled into me a knowledge of the visiblesigns of impending changes in meteorological conditions. As I becameolder the study of the warnings displayed in the sky and in theindescribable variations in the feel of the air possessed a fascinationfor me. During the early years after the formation of the club themembers jested me on account of my predilection for weather forecasting,but the uniform accuracy of these guesses commanded their surprise andsubsequently won their respect.
Chilvers and others sometimes call me "Old Prog. Smith," and I am moreproud of that pleasantry than of some others.
There was not a breath of air stirring. The atmosphere seemed stagnant,like a pool on which the sun has beat during rainless weeks. The driedtops of the swamp grass and reeds pointed motionless to theheat-quivering sky. The dust cast up by our car hung over the road likea ribbon of fog.
The forest to our left shut off a view of the western sky, but I feltsure that the clouds of an approaching storm were already marshalledalong its horizon. Then we shot out into a clearing and I took one swiftlook.
From north to south was spanned the sweeping curve of a gray cloud withjust a tinge of yellow blended into it. The ordinary observer would haveseen in it no premonition of a storm. It was smooth, light in tone andrestful to the eye as compared with the angry blue from out of which thesun blazed.
The upper edges of this mass were unbroken save at one point near thezenith of its curve. From this there protruded the sharper edges of a"thunder-head," as if some titanic and unseen hand were lifting to thefirmament a colossal head of cauliflower, its shaded portionsbeautifully toned with blue. This description may be homely, but it hasthe merit of accuracy.
I said no word of my certainty of the oncoming tempest, but threw onfull speed and dashed ahead at a rate which startled my fair companion.From the turn in the road just beyond the clearing we headed directlyinto the line of march of the storm. If it were slow-moving I calculatedwe would reach Oak Cliff before it broke, but I realised it would beclose work.
Miss Harding leaned over and said something to me. The whirr of themachinery and the swaying of the car made conversation difficult. Ipresume she thought I was determined to show my nerve and skill as adriver.
"Why this mad haste, Jacques Henri?" she again cried, her head so closeto mine that her hair brushed my cheek.
I returned a non-committal smile and fixed my eyes on the road whichslipped toward us like a huge belt propelled by invisible pulleys.
The miles kept pace with the minutes. Of a sudden the sun was blottedout. When I lifted my eyes from the road I saw birds circling high inthe sky. The cattle in adjacent fields lifted their heads and moveduneasily as if some instinct sounded a warning in their dull brains.Above the trees I saw the skirmish line of the storm.
In after hours Miss Harding told me that she had quickly solved thesecret of my wild dash. For a quarter of an hour she hung to the swayingseat and said no word. Once I looked into her eyes and read in them thatshe understood.
We dashed through a little village and paid no heed to the angry shoutsand menacing gestures of a man who wore a huge star on his chest. OakCliff was only ten miles away. Could we make it?
The restful grays of the cloud had disappeared; and low down on thehorizon I saw a belt of bluish black, and as I looked, a bolt oflightning jabbed through it. We were now running parallel to the storm,and I believed I could beat it to Oak Cliff. I felt certain I couldreach the little hamlet of Pine Top, and from there on it would be easyto get to shelter. Between us and Pine Top was practically an unbrokenwilderness, a part of the country reserved as a source of water supplyfor the great city far to the south of us.
Into that wilderness we dashed.
We were taking a hill with the second speed clutch on when a gratingsound came to my alert ears, and with it an unnatural shudder of themachinery. I threw off power and applied the brakes. As the car stoppedthe deep rolling bass of the thunder rumbled over the hills.
"We are caught," declared Miss Harding, but there was no fear in hervoice.
"Not yet!" I asserted, springing from the car and making a frenziedexamination of the cause of our breakdown. I knew it was not serious,and when I located it I joyously proclaimed it a mere trifle. Butautomobile trifles demand minutes, and nature did not postpone theresistless march of its storm battalions. As I toiled with wrench andscrew-driver I cursed the folly which induced me to plunge into thatdesolate stretch of forest and marsh.
The roar of the tempest's artillery became continuous. The low scudclouds travelling with incredible velocity blotted out the blue sky tothe east and darkness fell like a black shroud. I could not see to workbeneath the floor of the car, and lost another minute searching for andlighting a candle.
In the uncanny gloom I saw the fair face of the one whose safety now wasmenaced by my bold folly. I saw her form silhouetted against the blackof a fir tree in the almost blinding glare of a flame of lightning.
"Just one minute and I will have it fixed!" I said, and she smiledbravely but said nothing.
Still not a breath of air! The spires of the pine trees stood rigid asif cast in bronze!
This is the time when a storm strikes terror to my soul. With the firstpatter of the rain and the onrushing of the wind I experience asensation of relief, but it is nerve-racking to stand in that frightfulcalm and await the mighty charge of unknown forces.
As I bolted the displaced part into its proper adjustment I reflectedthat had it not been for the ten minut
es thus lost we would have been inOak Cliff. My calculations had been accurate, but again Fate hadintroduced an unexpected factor. I started the engine and leaped intothe car.
"Only a mile to shelter!" I exclaimed. "I think we can make it. Whereare the storm aprons?"
"We forgot them," she said.
"I forgot them, you mean," I declared. "Hold fast! It is a rough road!"
The red car leaped forward. I remembered that there was a farmhouse amile or so ahead.
Never have I witnessed anything like the vivid continuity of thatlightning. With a crash which sounded as if the gods had shattered thevault of the heavens a bolt streamed into a tree not a hundred yardsahead, and one of its limbs fell to the roadway. It was impossible tostop. She saw it and crouched behind the shield. With a lurch and a leapwe passed over it.
I felt a drop of rain on my face. The trees swayed with the first gustof the tempest. We were going down hill with full speed on. A fewhundred yards ahead was a stone culvert spanning the bed of a creekwhose waters years before had been diverted to a reservoir a mile or soto the east. Save at rare intervals, the bed of this creek was dry.
As the recollection of this old culvert came to me I raised my eyes andsaw something which drove the blood from my heart! A quarter of a mileahead was a gray wall of rain, and dim through it I saw huge trees mountinto the air and twist and gyrate like leaves caught up in an air eddy.
Holding our speed for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes, wesurged toward the old culvert. Jamming on the brakes, I swung to oneside of the embankment and stopped almost on the edge of the dry bed ofthe creek.
Miss Harding leaped to the ground and stood for an instant dazed. Istumbled as I jumped, but was on my feet like a flash. The arch of theculvert was not thirty feet away, but had we not been protected by theembankment we should have been beaten down and killed ere we reached itsshelter.
The stones and gravel from the roadway above were dashed into our facesby the outer circle of the tornado. Grasping Miss Harding by the arm Idragged or carried her, I know not which, to the yawning but welcomeopening of the old stone archway.
I cannot describe what followed. It was as if the earth were in itsdeath throes. We were tossed back and forth in this tunnel, a resistlesssuction pulling us first toward one entrance and then to the other, onlyto be hurled back by buffeting blows.
There was a sense of suffocation as if the lightning had burned the air.Our nostrils were filled with the fumes of sulphur, and we looked intoeach other's frightened eyes only when some near flash penetrated theawful blackness of what seemed our living tomb.
A tree fell across the west opening, one twisted limb projecting wellinto the tunnel of the culvert. We could not distinguish the crashes ofthunder from that of hurtling trees or the demoniac roar of the tornado.All of our senses were assailed by the unleashed furies of the tempest;crazed with rage that we were just beyond their reach.
I cannot say how long this lasted. Observers of the tornado in otherplaces state that it was not more than three minutes in passing. Itspath was less than half a mile in width, but I am convinced that itsonward speed was comparatively slow else we would not have reached theculvert from the time I first saw it until its edge struck us.
Then came a moment of appalling silence. The tornado had passed. Withthis strange calm the darkness lifted and we knew that the crisis wasover.
"Grasping her by the arm I dragged her"]
We were near the centre of the tunnel. I became aware that I was holdingher hands and that her head was resting on my shoulder.
As the silence came like a shock, she raised her head and our eyes met.
"God has been very good to us," she said, gently releasing her hands."Let us thank Him."
Standing there in the rising waters we silently offered up our thanks tothe One who rides on the wings of the storm and Who had guided two ofHis children to a haven of refuge.
The rain was still falling in sheets and the water had risen to ourshoe-tops. In the growing light I discovered a projecting ledge near thecentre of our shelter and helped Miss Harding to obtain a footing.
"If the water keeps on rising," she said, "we must get out of here. I amsure the rain will not kill us."
"That's true," I admitted, "but I hope the rain will cease before theflood reaches your ledge. It's coming down good and hard now."
It was pouring torrents. Though the crippled stream drained only a smallterritory the current had already reached my knees. I waded to the eastopening and took one glance at the sky. The outlook was not encouraging,but we could stand another eighteen-inch rise without serious discomfortor danger. I realised that it would not do to be swept against the treewhich partially clogged the further opening.
Half an hour passed and the rain still fell and the water rose inch byinch. We laughed and joked and were not in the least alarmed. Then thewater lapped over the ledge on which she stood. She declared that herfeet were wet as they possibly could get.
"I can stand it a few more minutes if you can," she said. "The rain isceasing. You poor Jacques Henri! It's all you can do to keep your feet!"
I stoutly denied it.
"I'm having a jolly time!" I declared. "I see a light in the west. Therain will cease in a few minutes."
Even as I spoke the water rose several inches in one wave. I surmisedwhat had happened. A dam had formed below us and the water was backingup. In less than a minute it had risen six inches, and was at hershoe-tops.
"We are drowned out!" I said. "Let's get out before we have to swim forit. Now be steady and remember your training as an equestrienne. Grab meby the neck and hang on and we'll be out of here in a minute."
I lifted her to my left shoulder and with my free right hand steadiedmyself against the wall of the tunnel. The bed of the brook was of softsand and formed a fairly good footing. Luckily the same cause which sosuddenly flooded us out materially lessened the force of the current,but it still struggled fiercely against me, and a false movement on thepart of my fair burden might have led to distressing and even seriouscircumstances.
The water was almost to my waist but her skirts were clear of it. Islipped once and thought we were in trouble, but we safely reached theopening and it was a happy moment when I placed her on solid ground. Notthat I was tired of my burden--not at all. I cheerfully would haveattempted the task of carrying her the three miles between us and PineTop.
A light mist was falling, but we did not notice that. We stoodspellbound, gazing on a scene of unspeakable devastation!
To the north, west and southeast the forest lay prone like a field ofwind-swept corn. Huge oaks and pines were tossed in grotesque windrows.Here and there gnarled roots projected above the prostrate foliage. Theonce proud trees lay like brave soldiers; their limbs rigid in thecontorted attitudes of death.
The line of wreck was clearly marked along its northern line but thehills shut off our view to the west. The road to Pine Top was one massof trunks and twisted limbs. For some distance in the other directionthere was no forest to the right, and so far as we could see the roadwas clear.
At first glance I thought the touring car a total wreck. It had beenlifted and hurled on its side against a partially dismantled stone wall.It was half hidden by a large branch of a tree, and its rear wheels wereburied in mud and debris.
As we stood silent and awe-stricken amid this manifestation of theinsignificance of man, the sun blazed forth from behind a laggard cloud.The effect was theatrical. It was like throwing the limelight on thescene which marks the climax of some tense situation. Instinctively welifted our arms and cheered for sheer joy.
"What care we for wrecked automobiles and wet clothes?" I shouted. "Welive, we live!"
"It is good to live," she cried; "it is splendid to live!"
We smilingly saluted His Majesty the sun once again, and then returnedto earth.
"What shall we do?" Miss Harding asked.
My most vivid impression of this charming young woman at that instantw
as that her shoes gave forth a "chugging" sound as she walked,convincing aural evidence that their spare spaces were occupied withwater. I also recall that her hat was a limp and bedraggled wreck frombeing jammed for an hour or more against the roof of the culvert.
"I don't know," I frankly admitted. "It is certain we cannot take thisroad to Pine Top. I have an idea that our back track is clear. I suggestthat I proceed to ascertain if this machine is dead beyond hope ofresurrection. If it isn't we'll take it back to civilisation. If it iswe'll abandon it and walk."
"It is now half past three o'clock," she said, looking at her watch."Even if we are late in getting to Oak Cliff we must go there ifpossible, for I know papa will wait for us and be worried if we do notcome."
"I'll do the best I can," I said, hesitating a moment and vainlyattempting to think of some discreet way in which to express what was onmy mind.
"It will take some time," I finally said, "and in the meanwhile you hadbetter--you had better--"
"Oh, I'm going to," she laughed, and before I could look up she was onher way to the sunny side of the embankment on the further approach ofthe culvert. Ten minutes later I turned and saw her a few paces awaysilently watching me, and the same glance revealed a pair of daintyshoes on the top rail of the old bridge, and I presume that in someplace was a pair of stockings so disposed as to give Sol's rays a fairchance to do their most effective work.
"I think I can fix it inside of an hour," I said.
"That will be splendid!" she exclaimed.
The sun was blistering hot and I worked like a Trojan, but again was itmy fate to disappoint her. The working parts were clogged with sand andmud, and I had underestimated the magnitude of my task. I know now thatour best course would have been to abandon the machine and to walk toPine Top, but perhaps what happened was just as well.
It was 5:45 before the machine gave its first sure signs of returningconsciousness. Miss Harding gave a glad cry and a quarter of an hourlater when the red monster stood coughing in the muddy roadway those dryshoes were where they belonged.
With light hearts we waved farewell to the kindly old culvert and setour pace toward Woodvale. It was our plan to take the first crossroadleading from the path of the tornado, and if possible make our way toOak Cliff. We passed a small hut which nestled in the shelter of therocks. In our mad rush I had not noticed it, but it seemed vacant.
A little farther on the road turns sharply to the right and re-entersthe forest. As we came to the top of a knoll I looked ahead and saw at aglance that we were again nearing the path of the tornado. But I went onuntil the trunks of the stricken trees brought us to a halt.
"We are trapped, Miss Harding," I said, after an examination whichproved that even foot travel was well-nigh impossible. "We are in thesegment of a circle closed at its ends by fallen trees, and the worst ofit is this: there remains to us positively no outlet to the road."
It was an exasperating situation. We decided to return to the hut in thehope that its occupant--if it had one--might be able to show us a trailthrough the woods to the west. As we came near the hut we saw smokecoming from its stove-pipe chimney. It looked mighty cheerful.
I knocked on the door and a big, good-natured Norwegian opened it. He isone of the watchmen employed by the Water Commissioners to keeptrespassers off the lands reserved for water supply.
I briefly explained our predicament. He informed me that there was nowagon road leading to the east or the west, and said, with a wide grin,that our auto could not possibly get out until the road was cleared.Miss Harding joined us and made a despairing gesture when told thesituation.
This man Peterson said that the tornado had missed his hut by a fewhundred yards. He was in Pine Top when it swept through the edge of thatvillage, killing several persons.
"Where is the nearest railway station?" asked Miss Harding.
"Pine Top."
"How far is it?" I asked.
Peterson scratched his head and said that to go around the fallen timbermeant a journey of fully five miles.
"Will you guide us?" I asked. "I will pay you," I added, naming aliberal sum.
Peterson said he would when he had cooked and eaten his supper. It wasthen after seven o'clock, and the thought occurred to us that we werehungry. Peterson agreed to do the best he could for us in the way of ameal, and he did very well.
We were lamentably shy on dishes and knives and forks. We had bacon andeggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter and some really excellent coffee.There was only a single room in the hut, but it was clean and fairlytidy. Peterson explained that he never had company, and apologised forhis lack of tableware.
Miss Harding was given the only regulation knife and fork, and I had thepleasure of beholding her eating from my plate. There was only oneplate, Peterson using the frying pan and a carving knife.
What fun we had over that humble but wholesome meal! Miss Hardingpraised our host's cooking, and his honest blue eyes glistened at thecompliment. Miss Harding and I sat on a board which rested on two nailkegs, while Peterson, against his protest, had the one chair in thehouse.
It was growing dark ere the meal was ended. I ran the touring car intothe little yard and sheltered it as best I could under the projectingledge of a rock. Peterson produced a big strip of heavy canvas which Iput to good service by protecting the vital parts of the mechanism.Peterson assured us that the car would be safe, and with a parting lookat it we entered the forest.
It was a long, tortuous and in places dangerous journey. While we werenot in the track of the tornado, the storm had been severe over a wideterritory. Fallen trees lay across our rocky trail and at times we hadto make wide detours, forcing our way through thick underbrush andscaling slippery rocks.
Miss Harding proved a good woodswoman.
"If I did not know that papa is worried I would enjoy every moment ofthis," she declared, as we paused to rest after a climb of fully fivehundred feet out of the valley.
The lightning was again flickering in the west and we pressed on. Therewere intervals of cleared spaces now and then. We climbed fences, jumpedditches and seemingly walked scores of miles, but still the flickeringyellow light of that lantern led us remorselessly on. At last when itappeared as if our quest were interminable we surmounted a rail fenceand found ourselves in a road.
"Pine Top half a mile," was the cheering announcement made by Petersonas he held the lantern so that Miss Harding could examine the extent ofa rent just made in her gown.
Ten minutes later we stood on the platform of the little red station inPine Top, and the spasmodic clatter of a telegraph instrument was musicin our ears.
Down came the rain, but what cared we! The steel rails which gleamed andglistened in the signal lights led to Woodvale. We entered the room andwaited patiently until the operator looked up from the jabberingreceiver.
"When is the next train to Woodvale?" was my ungrammatical query.
"I wish I could tell you," he answered, rather sullenly. He had been onduty hours over time. "They've nearly cleared the track between here andWoodvale, but the Lord only knows when a train can get through from OakCliff."
"No train from Oak Cliff since the storm?" I asked.
"Well, I should guess not!" he gruffly laughed. "Oak Cliff's wiped offthe map."
Miss Harding clutched my arm. There was startled agony in her eyes, herlips trembled but she bore the shock bravely.
"Did you get a message to that effect?" I demanded in a voice whichmust have surprised him.
"No, the wires are down between here and Oak Cliff, but a man came byhere an hour ago who said it went through the village."
"Did it strike the Oak Cliff club house?" I asked.
"He didn't say," replied the operator, and then the instrument demandedhis attention.
"These reports are always exaggerated," I assured Miss Harding. "Besidesthe club house is of stone, and it is protected by a hill to the west.Do not be in the least alarmed."
"We can only hope and wait," she soft
ly said.
We heartily thanked Peterson and watched him as he disappeared in thedarkness, tramping stolidly in the face of a driving rain.
Despite the rain it was warm and we sat on a bench under the broad roofof the platform. I did my best to take her mind away from the dreadwhich possessed her, but it was a wretched hour for both of us. Then wesaw the flicker of lights down the track, and toward us came a smallarmy of labourers who had been clearing the roadbed between us andWoodvale.
They stopped a minute in front of the station. These hardy Italiansstood in the drenching rain, axes in their hands or over theirshoulders, their clothes smeared with mud, water running in streams fromthe rims of their broad hats; there they stood and laughed, chattered,jested and indulged in rough play while their foreman received hisinstructions from the telegraph operator. And then with a cheer and asong they started on their way to Oak Cliff. Happiness and contentmentare gifts; they cannot be purchased.
Something to the south burned a widening circle in the mist and rain,and from its centre we made out the headlight of a locomotive. It was apassenger train, and as it crawled cautiously to the platform two menleaped from it and came toward us.
I recognised Carter and Chilvers.
They had heard of the tornado and had constituted themselves a searchingparty.
"Naturally your mother is alarmed," said Carter "but I assured her thatit was nothing more serious than delayed trains. She knows nothing ofthe tornado."
We were informed that the up train would be held on a sidetrack untilthe one from Oak Cliff got through. There was nothing to do but wait. Itwas past midnight when we heard the blast of a whistle to the north, andwhen the train from Oak Cliff pulled in Mr. Harding was the first one toswing to the station platform.
"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed, releasing his daughter's arms from hisneck, holding her at arm's length and then kissing her again. "Is thisthe way you call for me at four o'clock? Where's Smith? Hello, Smith!Where's the red buzz wagon?"
"Over there," I said.
And then we all talked at once. Chilvers danced a clog-step to thedelight of the grinning trainmen, Carter removed his monocle andpolished it innumerable times, Miss Harding laughed and cried by turns,Mr. Harding dug cigars from pockets which seemed inexhaustible, and gavethem to the railroad men, and I furiously smoked a pipe and put in aword whenever I had a chance. It was an informal and glorious reunion.
The wires were working to Woodvale, communication having been made whilewe stood there, and the conductor was honoured that he had the privilegeto hold the train while the famous Robert L. Harding sent a reassuringtelegram to his wife.
It was nearly two o'clock when we arrived in Woodvale. I asked Mr.Harding how near the tornado came to the Oak Cliff club house.
"Smith," he said, laying his hand on my arm, "it passed so close that Icould have driven a golf ball into it, and I was tempted to try. That'sthe best chance I'll have to get a long carry."
