The Safety First Club and the Flood

The hallway of the ancient structure was curiously small in contrast with the big room the boys had just left. It was, indeed, little more than a box of an entry, with a winding stair in one corner, a plan of construction made necessary, no doubt, by the huge chimney in the middle of the house. In making the most of limited space, however, the designer had produced a crowded effect, even when the hall was bare of fittings, as it now was.

With the draft created by the fire and the open window, the air in the room the boys had just left had freshened considerably; but the hall was full of a stale and musty odor. The torch burned feebly. Once it seemed to be on the point of being extinguished, but the Shark by careful nursing saved the flame.

Sam laid hand on the old-fashioned rail of the stairway.

“One at a time,” he said. “If there are any weak spots, we don’t want to tumble through them in a crowd. Safety First!”

“Sure thing—Varley and I got enough of the other scheme!” quoth the Shark. “Go ahead, Sam!”

A bit gingerly Sam began the ascent of the flight. The old boards creaked and groaned under his weight, but there was no indication of serious weakness in them or their supports.

The flickering light from the torch left the top of the stairs in deep shadow. The explorer inferred rather than was certain that the upper hall was merely a landing by which one could reach the rooms on either side. Still holding the rail, he called out to the others to follow, one by one.

Orkney gave Varley a push, and thus settled the order of precedence; for the Shark elected to be No. 3, keeping the light in the midst of the party. Then Lon shoved Orkney ahead, much as Tom had encouraged Paul, and made himself the rear-guard. The stairs groaned and creaked more dolefully than ever, but held firm.

Sam, meanwhile, had edged across the landing and into one of the rooms, the door of which stood open. It happened to be directly above the apartment they had first entered, and, so far as he could make out, corresponded with it in size, though it was still lower of ceiling. A gleam from the smoking pine stick showed that, like the room below, it had a fireplace.

While the air was a trifle better than on the lower floor, Sam lost no time in getting at a window; and when the sash stuck, he promptly smashed a couple of the small panes. Incidentally, he made note that the rain was falling steadily.

In this upper chamber the proofs of the leaks in the roof were numerous. Little streams were running down all four of the walls, against one of which, where probably the beams sagged, a pool a yard or more across had formed. Other parts of the floor, however, were still dry. Very few of the furnishings had been left in the room. The tall headboard of an old-fashioned bedstead leaned against a wall, and near the hearth was a heavy settle, too bulky, probably, to have made it worth while to go to the trouble of removing it. It furnished a seat for Lon and Orkney, while Varley and the Shark joined Sam in the inspection of their refuge. This completed, the three joined the two before the fireplace. The Shark stuck his brand in a crevice between two bricks; watched its none too vigorous flame for a moment; stepped forward and extinguished it.

“Guess we’ll economize on the illumination,” he said. “When this is gone, I don’t know where the next’ll come from. And who’s afraid of the dark, anyway?”

Nobody made reply to this query. There was a pause; then Sam asked, a little sharply, if the Shark were sure his supply of matches was protected from the dampness. In turn, the question led to a reckoning of the stock of all the party. Orkney had a metal pocket-case, well filled; Lon had a score of matches loose in a waistcoat pocket; Sam himself could contribute a dozen. In this respect, at least, they were prepared for emergencies. Sam heard somebody’s sigh of relief in the darkness, and sympathized with it.

Truth to tell, the adventurers were now in the midst of one of their most trying experiences. The gloom of the room; the inaction; the forced waiting—all these things tested grit. For the time being, they seemed to be safe enough, but nobody could tell what the conditions might be an hour hence. The flood continued to rise about the old house. Sam’s observations from the window were confirmed by Orkney, who felt his way down the stairs, but only to return with word that the water was encountered half-way down the flight.

Again Sam felt the responsibility which falls to a leader. He whispered a word in Lon’s ear; and Lon, good fellow that he was, did his best to cheer his companions. He racked his memory for tales of Dominie Pike and his exploits, and embroidered the traditions with his own inventions, perhaps, for quaint tales they were which he told of the pioneer days in Sugar Valley. Sam noted that Tom Orkney was especially interested. Varley, too, put an occasional question; but there was nothing to indicate that the Shark was at all attentive.

Sam, presently, crept to the Shark’s side. Lon was in the midst of a yarn, and was talking loudly; there was small danger that a whispered conversation would be overheard.

“Oh, Shark!” Sam spoke very softly.

“Eh? What?” The Shark’s response was in like tone.

“I’ve been wondering—say! ought to be some limit to this sort of thing—rise of the river, I mean. What’s your notion?”

“Pure conjecture!” Low as the reply was, it had a shade of testiness.

“I know—but what’s your conjecture? Your line, you know—figuring—all that.”

The Shark considered briefly. “Well, I’ll tell you, Sam. Something’s happened.”

“Don’t need to tell me that!” growled Sam.

“You don’t understand. I mean, something’s happened more than a common spring freshet. The rain and the melting snow filled the river, as I saw, and as you must have seen, too. But ordinarily the river takes care of the most of the water—the Grants spoke as if there’d been little trouble in other years. This time, though—well, you know how much snow there was, and how quickly it goes under a rain like this. And Mr. Grant said they’d been having the storm up-stream a good while before it hit us. One of the dams must have gone out—that’d account for the tidal wave—if you can call it that—which came rushing down the valley.”

“I see,” said Sam. “It’s reasonable.”

“Of course it is—I’m telling you,” said the Shark simply. “Listen now, though! If nothing else had happened, once the crest of the wave had passed, we’d have seen the water begin to go down. Why? Because the natural drainage would be taking care of it. Pour a pitcher of water into a set-bowl, when the plug isn’t in the outlet, and after a few seconds you’ll see the level lowering. Drop the plug in place, and the bowl stays full. And I tell you, Sam, Sugar Valley is a lot like a big bowl.”

“But——”

The Shark disregarded the interruption. “Hold on! Let me finish. There’s a plausible explanation of our fix. Our big bowl is plugged, and if it is, the plug is an ice jam. Remember how narrow the gorge is at the foot of the valley? Remember how the bridge piers clutter it up? Well, then! Plain as the nose on your face! River carries down a lot of big chunks. They pile up against the bridges and wedge together. Then along comes a lot of logs and floating riffraff to fill in the cracks. That’s how you get your dam that’ll turn the valley into a big pond. The water can’t run off, so it stays here and keeps rising and rising.”

“But how much longer can it keep on rising?”

“Can’t say. Lack data. As I recall that map, though, I don’t believe we’ve seen high water mark yet—not by a long shot!”

“But the dam—if there is one——?”

“Well, they mostly use dynamite to blow up ice jams. So I guess it’s a question of how soon somebody gets to this one with a cartridge.”

Sam groaned. The Shark put out a hand in the darkness and caught his arm.

“Nobody’s fault, this fix. Couldn’t get to high ground after that wave came along. Doubt if we could have made it before that—lot of low places in between. Nobody to blame. Sensible thing to stay here. That’s the whole story.”

“I hope so,” said Sam very soberly. He shook off the hand, and moved to the window. Dark as the night was, he could not escape conviction that the water was still climbing higher and higher.

Lon brought his story to a close, and there was silence in the room. It made all the more marked the noises without, the beat of the rain, the swirl of the flood against the house. There were other sounds, too, weird and mysterious, some faint and far off; others near at hand and still more disturbing. As for the house itself, it seemed to be straining like a ship in a storm, while it hardly needed a lively fancy to find in its shaking a hint of the trembling of a vessel’s hull under the pounding of big waves. Yet it was evident that the stout old building was withstanding the flood better than many a more modern and more lightly constructed house could have hoped to withstand it. Nevertheless, there was mighty complaint of beam and upright, which was not cheering to hear. Sam, listening and watchful, was a bit encouraged. The house might shake from roof to foundation, but it seemed to be coming to no harm. The huge chimney, doubtless, was like a brace to the entire structure.

Even if the house stood, though, there remained another question to be answered: How long would the flood continue to rise?

The Shark plainly feared that they were still far from the greatest peril from this source. Sam had to own that the fear might be justified. The suggestion of an ice jam and ice dam at the foot of the valley could not be verified, of course, but it was possible to gauge the steady rise of the water. Sam made the stairs a practical register. From time to time he ventured down them, and regularly found the invading flood a little higher than before.

The hours wore away slowly. At intervals some one or another of the refugees announced the time, striking a match ostensibly in order to glance at his watch, but taking remarkable care to save the tiny flame as long as possible. Everybody craved light. Lack of it was, in fact, the hardest part of the ordeal. Warmth, too, would have been welcome, but the night was not cold and the need of a fire was felt less acutely than the dispiriting effect of the dense darkness.

Talk was intermittent. Now and again somebody would rouse to interest in some aspect of their situation, and perhaps stir his neighbors to join in a discussion, and Lon told a dozen stories; but there were half-hours when nobody spoke. Sam, with his sense of responsibility strong upon him, studied his companions. The Shark caused him little concern. Silent meditation was quite in keeping with the habits of the mathematical youth, and Sam had no reason to doubt his nerve in case of grave emergency.

Varley was more puzzling. Unquestionably the city boy was under a greater strain than his comrades, because of the entire novelty of his surroundings. The others knew more or less about abandoned farmhouses, but such a place as the Dominie Pike homestead was wholly strange to Paul. Seemingly, he was of good courage, and his conduct won Sam’s approving respect.

Oddly enough, Tom Orkney presented another problem. Tom ordinarily was a reticent, self-contained fellow; but this night he took a leading share in the talk. He appeared to be intensely interested in everything he could learn about the old Dominie, and plied Lon with queries. Finally, he borrowed the Shark’s stump of pine wood, lighted it, and began a careful examination of the room. This finished, he restored the torch to its owner and guardian, who promptly extinguished the flame and stowed the precious remnant in an inside pocket of his jacket.

“Well, found out anything?” Sam asked, as Tom dropped beside him.

“I don’t know—I’m not certain,” Orkney answered slowly. “Somehow, though, I think I’ve got a line or two. I believe this room was the Dominie’s own—his study, maybe.”

“What! An up-stairs study?”

“Sounds unreasonable, I’ll admit, considering the plain living of the old days. But there’s a fireplace, and it looks as if there was a sort of closet on each side of the chimney, or hiding place—I don’t know exactly what to call it. What makes me think so? Well, I can’t be sure, but I suspect there’s wood fitted in among the bricks and made to look just like them. Anyway, that’s the feel of it!”

“The feel?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Try it yourself. Come along—I’ll show you,” said Orkney, and got upon his feet. Sam, too, rose.

Orkney made his way back to the chimney, Sam following. There, under Tom’s direction, he groped about the brickwork, without arriving at any clear conclusion.

“If I could see anything, it would be different,” he remarked. “But this thing—say, my fingers are numb, anyway! I can’t feel anything but clammy dampness. But what’s the idea you’re working on?”

“Oh, I don’t know—sort of a notion—a hunch, maybe.”

“What kind of a hunch?

“It—it’s pretty vague,” Orkney confessed.

Sam, not deeply impressed but willing enough that Orkney should find even such diversion, moved back to the window. From sounds which proceeded, presently, from the direction of the chimney he inferred that Tom had taken out his knife and was scratching away at the old mortar. After a little, however, he lost consciousness of this activity, and, indeed, of a good deal more; for he fell into an uneasy doze.

Subsequently on comparing notes, the boys had to admit, one and all, that in spite of their perils they caught some sleep in the course of the night. Probably all of them slept longer than they realized. Sam, at any rate, must have passed from doze to sound slumber; for when he was awakened by a tremendous crash there was a second or two in which he did not realize where he was or how he came to be there. The old house was still trembling violently from the concussion, as well as from a series of minor blows, as the object which had collided with it was carried along, grinding and pounding against the side of the building.

In the room there was something closely akin to panic for a moment. Varley shouted wildly for help. Lon was scrambling to the window. Sam heard Orkney cry out, and caught distinctly the Shark’s shrill whistle, and close-following comment:

“Whew! There’s bulk, with momentum, for you! Say, what was it?”

Sam found himself peering over Lon’s shoulder. Certainly there was a slight lessening of the darkness. He could make out dimly a black mass drifting by.

“Great Scott! but that must be one o’ them big barges from the brick yards!” Lon groaned. “Use ’em to freight the bricks down to the railroad, they do. But the yards are up above the big dam. If that’s one o’ their boats, it means that dam has gone out as well as the little fellow we’ve been figgerin’ on. Jeewhillikens! but this is a reg’lar granddaddy of a flood! Must be, for they haul the barges out winters, and the one that hit us must ’a’ been well up the bank. And look how the water’s riz, anyhow!”

Sam looked; that is, he gazed as at a dark curtain, and saw a pale glimmer just discernible at what he estimated to be but a few inches below the level of the upper floor. As he was continuing his observations, Orkney plucked at his sleeve.

“That jolt pretty nearly got to us, Sam. I’ve been scouting out in the hall. I couldn’t see much, but it looks as if the whole corner had been torn out of the room on the other side. And the house—what’s left of it, I mean, is askew. Floor of the hall’s tilted like a hillside.”

Sam made reconnaissance for himself, and found that Tom had by no means exaggerated the conditions. He returned to the room, to discover that Orkney was again scratching at the chimney. From the neighborhood of the window Lon spoke:

“Boys, I dunno but we’ll have to move along pooty soon—water sure is climbin’ and climbin’. So as I hate to take a jump in the dark, as you might say, I guess I’ll go scoutin’ for some road that leads higher, too. Jest you wait here, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

In a moment more they could hear him in the hall; but several minutes passed before he called out to the Shark to bring him what was left of the torch. The Shark obeyed; and, presently, there was a creak of rusty hinges, and Lon called out cheerily:

“It’s all right! Attic stairs jest about where I cal’lated they ought to be. That’s enough of the light, son. Put it out and save the pieces till we need ’em again.”

Then back came Lon and his torch-bearer to join Sam and Varley and Orkney in the nerve-testing task of waiting for the steadily rising flood to drive them from their refuge.

How long they waited none of them knew. To Sam it seemed to be hours and hours before a chance movement of his was marked by the splash of his foot in water. Through the open door a tidy little stream was pouring into the room from the hall.

Now the old house was creaking and groaning, and without were all the noises of the storm, but not one of the party missed that splash or misunderstood its meaning.

“Heh! Time to go, ain’t it?” Lon tried to speak lightly, but his tone betrayed his excitement.

“Yes, it’s time,” Sam said; his voice, too, was shaking.

“All right! Light up, Shark,” Lon directed. “You and me’ll go ahead, seein’ as how we know the way. Rest o’ you keep clost to us.”

The Shark’s torch was but an inch or two of blackened, resinous pine, and its flame was no greater than that of a toy candle. Still, it enabled Sam to observe Orkney digging away at the bricks of the chimney with furious haste.

“Drop that, Tom, and come along,” he called.

Orkney gave no heed to the summons. Instead, he worked more desperately than ever.

“Give me time! I—I’m getting there!” he declared.

The Shark was moving toward the door. The faint beams of his torch quite failed to reach the spot where Orkney stood. Sam had no notion of what Tom might be about, but he had strongly developed opinions on the unwisdom of tarrying. He strode across the room, grasped Orkney’s shoulder. The other resisted briefly. In a vague way Sam conjectured that he was groping about the chimney. Also he remembered, afterward, that Orkney uttered a queer little exclamation, which seemed to betoken satisfaction, then ceased his resistance.

“Come on!” Sam urged, and Orkney came. Possibly Sam felt rather than saw that Tom was thrusting something into the protection of his closely buttoned coat; but what was of far greater immediate importance was the depth of the invading water, through which they had to wade. It was ankle-deep in the half-wrecked hall; it was over the lower step of the steep and narrow stair leading to the attic, up which Lon and Varley already had passed.

The Shark, standing at the foot of the flight and cherishing his feeble beacon, growled his opinion of those who delayed.

“What you fellows dillydallying for? Think I’m a government lighthouse that’s bound to keep going, anyway? This thing’s nothing but one coal, and it’s getting to me—ouch! I can’t keep on holding it till daylight!”

Sam and Orkney, thus exhorted, quickened their pace. But as they did so, Lon raised a shout, in which was a ring of jubilation:

“Hullo, everybody! Speakin’ o’ daylight, I can see something that’s mighty good for my sore eyes. What is it, eh? Well, it’s where there used to be roof, and where there ain’t any roof left now. But in place of it is jest the cheerfulest patch o’ mighty nigh washed out dawn that ever showed over to the east’ard. It’s mornin’, boys, or ’twill be in a few shakes of a lamb’s tail. Oh, well, see for yourselves then, if you ain’t willin’ to believe me.”

The Shark dropped his torch—it went out with a hiss in the pool at his feet—and raced up the stair. Orkney and Sam dashed after him.

What Lon had told them was true. An end of the roof was missing—carried away, perhaps, by the barge. And there the sky showed gray and dull, yet with the early dawn upon it.

No doubt the attic was even more cheerless, otherwise, than the room they had just quitted, but that patch of light made amends for everything. What if the drenching rain had poured through the break until the place were half-afloat? What if here the tumult of the storm and of the flood were louder and more menacing than ever? The darkness had been the direst of their troubles, and now it was about to be ended.

The missing segment of roof extended close to the floor at one end. Sam had no trouble in looking out. And he it was who made a discovery, at which he raised a cry as jubilant as Lon’s had been but a moment before.

Under the gray sky the flooded river spread like a black lake all about them. But close at hand, drifting directly toward the house, was that which he longed most to see.

“A boat! A boat!”

His call brought his companions to his side. Eagerly they gazed, and joined in a chorus of hails to the navigators. There were two of these. Each had been sitting huddled on a thwart; each roused to activity at sound of human voices, and, catching up a piece of board, fell to paddling wildly.

The Shark needed spectacles to improve his vision, yet it fell to his lot to be first to recognize the boatmen.

“Jupiter Crickets! Poke and Step!” he gasped; and in his tone was more bewilderment than delight.