CHAPTER XIII
THE BROKEN TRESTLE
Never had a day dawned more brightly, never had the skies been bluer than on the morning of a day a week or so later, to which the Scouts had looked forward with so much pleasure; and yet it proved to be a day of disaster.
The unfortunate happenings had begun with an accident to Mr. Durland. He had stepped carelessly upon a loose stone, and, his foot slipping, he had been thrown from his balance, and had rolled and slid down the steep mountain side. He had grasped at some stout bushes and so managed to stay his fall until help could reach him. His Troop had all been thankful enough when at last they had him at the top again and had found no bones were broken, and that there was apparently no more serious injury done than some severe bruises.
Thankful as they were, the accident had affected them all, for there was not a boy in that Adirondack camp who did not love Mr. Durland. He had been their Scout-Master ever since the formation of the Thirty-ninth Troop, and in all that time they had spent together the Scouts had found nothing in him that the most critical would have cared to change if he could. His never-failing cheerfulness, his quick sympathy and full understanding of boy nature, his hearty praise for work well done or any act that proved the doer a worthy Scout; the quiet reproof, when reproof could no longer be withheld—all these traits had endeared their Scout-Master to the members of the Thirty-ninth.
So it had been with thankful hearts but subdued spirits that they had again taken up the trail.
Then venturesome Tom Binns had foolishly wandered away, and it had taken an hour of searching before they had located him.
They had gone on quietly without any other unpleasant incident and had covered several miles of their hike where there had come literally “lightning out of a clear sky.”
One moment the sky had been of clearest blue, the sun shining brightly. The next the air had been filled with a lurid yellow light. It had thundered and lightened and, by sheer good fortune, just in the nick of time, the boys had stumbled upon a refuge formed by three great rocks piled one against the other. Against and between these they managed to crowd, but it had offered only meagre protection from the fury of the storm. Such a storm had never been witnessed before by any of them. It was preceded by a terrific wind which bent the saplings to the ground, wrenched up great trees by their roots, casting them aside like a giant’s discarded playthings. This it had made the boys’ hearts ache to see, for they had come to love the trees, and regard them almost as friends.
Then came the rain, in driving sheets that hid even nearby objects. It seemed as if the very floodgates of heaven were opened, and that it poured in “floods that came and came again,” until in every depression there was a small lake and wherever the ground sloped downward small rivers ran.
Not a living thing was to be seen, for every wild creature had taken refuge from the fury of the storm in its deepest woodland shelter and nestled there quivering, while still the thunder rolled, the lightning flashed and the rain came down in torrents.
Suddenly there was a peculiarly vivid flash, and then a crash that seemed as if the heavens themselves must be falling, and a tall oak directly opposite the Scouts’ shelter was riven by lightning. Straight through the center of the tree the blue fire ran, from topmost leaf to roots, and the giant parted and fell crashing to the ground.
At last, after what seemed a never-ending wait, the deluge was over, and the Scouts came out of their refuge, stretching their limbs, and again took up the trail.
At first their progress was slow, for in every hollow the water lay so deep that they were forced to abandon the trail and skirt around it. In more than one place a great tree lay across the trail and they must either go around or push through the fallen branches. All this took time and effort, and the boys were tired when they reached a part of the trail that led outside the woods, where they found the going much easier.
Then they reached the river, along whose banks the trail led to within a mile of the county town, for to purchase some much needed stores in the village had been the object of this hike.
Long before they reached the river they could hear its rushing waters and so were prepared to see it swollen, but the sight which now met their eyes was beyond anything they had imagined.
The raging volume of water that came tearing down the river course was more like some great, swirling cataract than a river. They remembered how it had looked on the day they came to camp as, crossing on the trestle which spanned it, they had looked down upon it from the train, and admired its quiet beauty. Then the blue sky was mirrored in its quiet depths, now a great mass of whirling, muddy water, sweeping all before it.
Recovering a little from their amazement at the sight of the rushing current, they went on down the trail until the trestle came in sight. At the first glance they stood as if turned to stone. For several minutes the Scouts gazed into the faces of one another, and, though no word was spoken, whole volumes were read in eyes full of alarm and faces which, despite the stout hearts back of them, were blanched with fear.
It had needed only one glance to see it all. On its course down the valley, the swollen river, overflowing its banks at many places, had loosened the earth from the roots of many trees growing along its edge and had borne them along. Several of these had been wedged against the foundation supports of the trestle and on the farther side had loosened several of them. This had caused the frame to sag away from the track, leaving the rails loosened and out of place for many feet at that end of the trestle, and—appalling thought! the afternoon express was due in little more than an hour. Is it any wonder that the thought left the Scouts white and speechless?
In order to give the alarm to the on-coming train it would be necessary to cross the river. Ordinarily this would be easy enough, for here the river had neither great depth nor strong current, but one glance now at the raging, boiling torrent that had taken the place of the usually placid river showed that to be dangerous, if not impossible.
As the Troop stood there hesitating, trying to decide on the best thing to do, there was constantly before each one a picture of the train speeding out on that broken trestle, then falling, its cars piling up one upon the other, the shrieks and groans of the injured—Ah, but they must not think of these things! It would make them unable to plan. That they must do something to save the train went without saying. No true Scout could stand or had ever stood by when there was disaster to be prevented or life to be saved.
“Now, Scouts,” said Mr. Durland in a resolute voice, “here is an emergency that will test all your training. We must act quickly, or it will be too late.”
As he spoke a new thought flashed into his mind and now, looking into the earnest faces of the Scouts, he saw the thought that was in his own mind grow in theirs.
The trestle! But to run along that trestle over the mass of seething, angry water, when the slightest misstep meant death, to warn the on-coming train—could he ask or expect such a heroic deed from these Scouts, the oldest of whom was scarcely more than a boy? He must consider.
The wind that had risen to a hurricane before the storm had broken now began to rise again, and he knew that this would increase the peril fourfold. What was his duty to these boys? Should he teach them at this crisis that their first duty was to themselves, or that it was their great privilege to risk their own lives to save others?
His decision was made, and, raising his head, he quickly called for a volunteer.
Every Scout, to the last man, stood ready!
Strong man as he was, Mr. Durland felt the tears rush to his eyes, and he could not speak for a moment for the choking in his throat. Then he said, “Well, Scouts, I’m proud of every one of you, but you see you cannot all go.” Then glancing keenly about, he continued: “I will let you choose your own man. Whom do you think best fitted, not by courage, for you are all that, but by physical strength and steadiness of head to undertake this task?”
And there was but one word spoken, as with but one voice, “Jack!”