CHAPTER XII
IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE
In the meantime, outside the building suspense had reached almost the breaking point. The Scouts still stood steady and staunch, but their faces were white and drawn. When the crash that announced the falling floor came, a man, wrought beyond the bearing point, cried out:
“There goes his last chance, poor kid!”
“Shut up, can’t you,” breathed a fierce, tense voice in his ear the next instant. “Don’t you see his father and mother back there?”
It was only too true. Attracted by the excitement, Rob’s father and mother had driven to the scene in their car. They reached it just in time to hear of Rob’s heroic act. Now, white-faced and trembling, they sat hand in hand wretchedly waiting for news. As time passed and the flames rose higher without a sign of the daring lad, their hearts almost ceased to beat. Seconds seemed hours, minutes eternity.
Then suddenly came a fearful cry. On the roof there had appeared the figure of Rob with a bundle which the crowd readily guessed to be the janitor’s child clasped tightly in his arms. The flames, leaping from the cupola, illumined his form brightly and showed his pale, tense face. Thwarted in his effort to descend by the stairway, Rob had managed to reach the roof through a scuttle.
“He’s done it! Hurrah! The boy’s saved the baby!” went up an ear-splitting cry from the unthinking in the crowd.
The others knew only too well that the reason that Rob had appeared on the roof betokened the terrible fact that his escape had been cut off. He was making a last desperate stand, with the flames drawing closer, and threatening to burst through the roof at any moment.
Every eye in that crowd was fixed on the solitary figure on the roof.
“Ladders! Get ladders,” yelled the foreman, hoping against hope that one could be found tall enough to reach to that height.
Rob came forward to the cornice, and looked over as if gauging the height. They saw him shake his head. Then he looked behind him. Alas, there, too, all hope of escape was cut off. Between himself and an iron fire-escape at the back of the building, tongues of flame were now shooting through the roof.
“He’s shouting something. Keep still, for heaven’s sake!” came Merritt’s voice suddenly.
A death-like silence followed. Then above the roar and crackle came a faint sound. It was Rob calling out some commands.
“A rope! – shoot it up here,” was all they could distinguish.
Merritt darted forward and stood below the walls.
“Louder, Rob! Louder!” he besought.
“A rope! Bow – arrow – shoot it up!” came Rob’s voice, audible to few, but his chum Merritt was the only one that understood. He was back among the Scouts in a flash. He seized Paul Perkins by the shoulder.
“Paul, your house is nearest. Run! Run as you never ran before and get your archery bow and lots of arrows.”
Paul didn’t stop to ask the meaning of this strange command, but darted off at top speed, the crowd opening for him.
“Ropes! Ropes and lots of string!” shouted Merritt next, appealing to the throng. Those who were closest realized that a plan to save Rob – although what it was they couldn’t imagine – was to be tried. Neighbors of the Academy ran off at once and in a few minutes the Scouts were busy, under Merritt’s directions, knotting ropes together to form one long line.
When this had been done, Merritt measured with his eye the height of the Academy walls. Then he set them to work knotting light twine together in as long a line as they could make. By this time Paul was back with the bow and arrow that the Scouts used at archery practice.
“Give it here,” ordered Merritt tersely if ungrammatically.
What he was going to try was a repetition of the trick that had rescued some of the Eagle Patrol when they were imprisoned on the top of Ruby Glow in the Adirondacks on their memorable treasure hunt.
With a hand that was far from steady, Merritt knotted the end of the light string to an arrow. Then, placing the arrow in position, he drew the bow. It was plain enough to the dullest-witted now what he meant to do. His plan was to shoot the arrow, with the string attached, up on the roof where Rob could seize it. This done, it would be possible for the latter – if he had time – to haul up the rope, knot it to a chimney and slide down. It was a daring, desperate plan, but none other offered, and the fact that Rob had suggested it showed that his nerve was not likely to fail him in what might be aptly described as a supreme test.
Amid a dead silence Merritt let the arrow fly. It shot through the air, but instead of reaching the roof it struck the wall and rebounded. A cry went up from the watching crowd as it fell, having failed to accomplish its purpose. If Rob’s face changed as he stood up there on the edge of the fire-illumined roof, it was not visible to those below him, keen as his disappointment must have been.
But Merritt was almost sobbing as he picked up the arrow and fitted it afresh for another trial. As he drew the bow with every ounce of strength he possessed, his lips moved in prayer that his next effort might be successful. At any moment now, the foreman of the fire-fighters told him, the roof might collapse, carrying with it the brave boy and his childish burden.
On the outskirts of the crowd, too, a white-faced man and woman were imploring Divine Providence to nerve Merritt’s arm and aim. For one instant the bowstring was drawn taut till it seemed that the bow must snap under the terrific pressure.
Then suddenly the string fell slack, the arrow whizzed through the air and a mighty cheer split the sky as it winged true and swift to the roof top, falling almost at Rob’s feet. Hand over hand he drew in the string, and at last he had hauled up enough rope to knot one end fast about some ornamental stone work at a corner of the building.
While doing this he had laid the child down. Now he was seen to pick her up again, and holding her in his arms for an instant he appeared to consider. To slide down that rope he must have at least one arm free. How was he going to do it? The crowd almost forebore to breathe as they sensed what the boy on the roof was puzzling over.
It was Rob’s scout training that solved the problem – one of life and death for him – as this same training is doing all over the world for lads in every grade of life to-day. He was seen to give the child some emphatic instructions and then throw her over his left shoulder much as he might have done with a bag of meal. In this position the child’s head hung down between his shoulders. Her legs were across his chest.
Seizing the baby’s left arm so that it came over his right shoulder, Rob extended his left hand between its knees and grasped the little one’s wrist firmly. In this position she was held perfectly securely in what all Boy Scouts know as “The Fireman’s Lift,” one of the most useful accomplishments a Boy Scout can master.
This done, the most difficult, dangerous part of Rob’s task came. He had to slide down that rope with his burden on his shoulder with only his right arm and his legs to depend on for a grip. But it had to be done. Without hesitation he swung himself from the coping and gripped the rope.
For one terrible instant he shot down for a foot or so before he succeeded in checking his downward plunge. But his knees gripped the rope and his right arm stood the strain, although he felt as if it must snap.
How he reached the ground Rob never knew. Those last terrible moments on the roof had come very near to breaking his nerve. He was conscious of a sudden flare of light and a crash as his feet touched the ground. It crossed his mind hazily that part of the roof must have fallen in – perhaps the part on which he had been standing. Then came a rush of feet, shouts, cries, and arms flung about him, and through it all Rob could hear his mother’s glad cry of relief after the awful tension she had endured. He tried to say something and failed, and then everything raced round and round him at breakneck speed.
“He’s fainting!” he was conscious that somebody was shouting, and he could hear himself, only it seemed like somebody else, saying:
“No, I’m all right,” and then everything grew blank to the Boy Scout who had won, through “Being Prepared” for a great emergency.
CHAPTER XIII
THE ENEMY’S MOVE
Rob Blake was sitting on the porch of his home in Hampton. In his hand was a book on Woodcraft. But he was not just now devoting his attention to the volume. Instead he let it hang idly from one hand while he gazed up through the maple tops and dreamed of many things. As Rob himself would have put it, the “spring was in his blood.” More strongly than usual that morning he felt the “red gods calling.”
Suddenly two hands were thrown over his eyes from behind and a voice cried:
“Surrender, you leader of the Eagles! That’s one time you’re caught napping.”
“Tubby!” exclaimed Rob, springing up and facing round.
“How in the world did you get in?” he asked the next minute. “I never heard you coming, and – ”
He broke off with a laugh as his eyes fell on a big section of apple pie with one crescent-shaped bite missing, that the fat boy was regarding affectionately.
“Oh, I see. The back door, eh?” he inquired.
“Ye-es,” drawled Tubby, “and I must say your cook makes good pie and is inclined to look favorably on a starving Scout.”
“Starving! Why, it’s not two hours since breakfast!”
“Well, two hours is a long time – sometimes,” mumbled Tubby, who had taken another bite while Rob was speaking.
“What news from the Academy, Tubby?”
“Haven’t you heard? They haven’t been able to find another building big enough to house the scholars, so I guess it’s a holiday till the beginning of September for all of us,” cried Tubby with shining eyes. “Hullo, what’s that? A Latin grammar?”
He picked up a volume that lay on an adjoining chair. He regarded it attentively for a few seconds and then flung it forth into the garden where it landed in a rose bush.
“Let it lie there till September,” he chuckled. “Well, how are you anyhow, old fellow?” he rattled on. “It’s a week since the fire and you ought to be feeling fit again.”
“Never felt better in my life, although I was knocked out quite a bit; but you see I’ve had very good care, and – ”
“Oh yes, Lucy Mainwaring has been to see you – once or twice, hasn’t she?” and Tubby, with an air of apparent abstraction, fell to studying a white cloud that happened to be drifting by far above them. Suddenly he faced about with a mischievous laugh.
“You looked sort of pale when I came in, Rob,” he chuckled, “but you’ve got plenty of color now.”
Rob, boy-like, looked embarrassed and changed the subject rather abruptly.
“Everything fixed for that meeting at headquarters to-night?” he asked.
A rather odd look passed over the fat boy’s face.
“Oh yes, it’s all ready,” he said with rather a marked emphasis on the words.
“Good; you and Merritt must have worked hard.”
“We’ve all taken our part. The hall looks bully. It’ll be dandy to have you around again.”
The meeting the boys referred to was the regular weekly meeting of the patrol. But when Rob reached the hall above the bank that night he felt rather astonished to find that chairs and stools had been arranged all over the spacious hall, and that decorations consisting of the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Patrol flags were strung everywhere. Off the main hall opened the Scouts’ gymnasium and general store room. In this room Rob found his Scouts assembled. They greeted him with a cheer as he appeared. Rob began to feel uneasy. He hated anything like that, but he took the congratulations that were showered upon him in the spirit in which they were offered.
When he found an opportunity he drew Merritt aside.
“What are all the chairs arranged outside for?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, just so that the folks can see what we’ve been doing with our time during the winter,” was the reply. “We’ve arranged some single stick bouts and an exhibition drill and so on – you don’t mind, do you?”
“No, it’s a fine idea,” declared Rob warmly. “How soon will the company – audience I mean – arrive?”
“Guess they’re beginning to come now,” said Merritt as the sound of feet tramping into the hall became audible.
“Better send out Walter and Martin to act as ushers, hadn’t you?”
“Yes, I guess so,” and Merritt hastened off to dispatch the two second class Scouts referred to.
The hall filled rapidly. In the front rows Rob could see his parents and beside them Commodore Wingate, the scout master of the district, and the parents of most of the boys. The other chairs were filled with villagers and all at once – Rob’s heart beat rather quicker – down the aisle came the Mainwaring party. They took the three seats which had been apparently reserved for them close to Rob’s parents.
Little Andy Bowles, who arrived late, came into the gym in a state of high excitement.
Like most of the other scouts he had come in by the back stairway which led directly into the gym. He came straight up to Rob.
“Say,” he exclaimed, after he had given the scout salute and congratulated his leader, “say, who do you think are hanging about outside?”
“No idea,” rejoined Rob.
“Why, Hodge Berry and Max Ramsay and some of that bunch. They pretended not to notice me, but I’m sure they’re up to some mischief. I could tell that by the way they sneaked off when they saw me.”
“I don’t see what harm they can do us,” rejoined Rob, “although I don’t doubt they’d like to work off some mean trick. Run along and put on your best uniform, Andy, you’re late.”
Everyone of note in Hampton was in the hall by this time, and when Commodore Wingate arose to make a preliminary address he was warmly applauded. He dwelt at some length on the new spirit that the Boy Scouts had brought into Hampton, and explained that while some misinformed persons appeared to think that the scout movement was a warlike one, it was in reality a great influence for peace. He reviewed the work of the Eagles for the past year and enumerated at some length the various services they had done in the village. These included the clearing up and beautifying of vacant lots, the aiding of indigent or poor people, many little acts of kindness and help, and the setting generally of a good example to the youth of the town and neighborhood.
“But,” he went on to say, after an impressive pause, “it remained for the well-remembered night of the Academy fire to bring into notice the two most conspicuous acts of heroism the scouts have yet performed.
“I doubt if the annals of the Boy Scouts of any country show two more noble, self-sacrificing acts than those performed on that night by Leader Rob Blake of the Eagles,” – here such loud applause broke out that the speaker was compelled to pause for some minutes. When quiet was restored he went on, “and Merritt Crawford, his able lieutenant.” More applause.
While this was going on Rob was shaking his fist at Merritt indignantly. Modest as most true heroes, he had, of course, already quietly received the thanks of the janitor’s wife and the man himself for his daring rescue and hoped that the matter would end there. But this public acknowledgment was too much for him. As for Merritt, he was chuckling for a minute, but as his own name was announced he turned a fiery red and cried out in a voice that was audible to the front rows:
“Commodore, I thought you were going to leave me out!”
This caused a great laugh among those who heard it, and Rob felt revenged. But the worst ordeal for the two boys still was ahead of them. Above the din of applause that greeted the close of Mr. Wingate’s speech, they heard that gentleman cry for silence. When quiet was restored he turned around toward the gymnasium door and cried:
“I now ask Rob Blake and Merritt Crawford to come forward and receive a slight token of esteem from their fellow townsmen.”
“Go on!” cried the Scouts behind Rob and Merritt, under cover of a vigorous salvo of hand-clapping.
There was no use hanging back, and Rob and Merritt, looking very ill at ease, stepped out before the crowd. If the applause had been loud before it was terrific then. The hall fairly shook under it. Timid folks glanced upward at the roof to make sure it was not going to be blown off by enthusiasm. But at last, from sheer weariness, even the most vigorous applauders ceased. Then came a cry in a stentorian voice, traced to the foreman of the Fire Vigilants.
“Three cheers for Rob Blake and Merritt Crawford!”
“Second the motion!” came a tempest of cries from all parts of the hall.
Commodore Wingate drew from his coat tail pockets two velvet boxes. He opened them and in each there lay, glittering on a bed of purple plush, two miniature firemen’s helmets of solid gold set with diamonds. On the back of each was inscribed: “From a grateful community to a Boy Scout hero.” Then followed the date, the name of the boy receiving the gift and the village seal. Stepping forward the Scout Master pinned to the breast of each lad the gleaming trophies which would ever be among their proudest possessions.
In the fresh applause that followed there were a few who did not join. These were Max Ramsay, Hodge Berry and their cronies, all of whom cordially disliked the Boy Scouts and hated to see them the idols of the village. While the applause was still sounding in lusty salvoes they slipped out with mischievous looks on their faces. Perhaps Andy Bowles’ guess that they were up to some prank designed to work harm to the Boy Scouts was not so far from the mark.
To relate in detail all that took place that evening would occupy too much space. Suffice it to say that the drills and exercises went off with a snap, and that some of the games played proved full of laughter and merriment. As the audience filed out, more than one former lukewarm citizen was heard to remark that the Boy Scout organization was a “mighty fine thing for lads, and that the Eagles in particular not only shone themselves, but reflected credit on their home town.”
But with the departure of the crowd, all was not over. For some time, the boys’ gym buzzed with chat and laughter. Naturally, Rob and Merritt were the centers of attraction, and the two gold, diamond-studded helmets were handed about till it seemed that they must actually wear out from constant handling! At last it was too late to delay their departure for home any longer. When the impromptu meeting did finally break up, however, every fellow belonging to the Eagles felt deep down in his heart that their organization, despite criticism and even open enmity, had proved its right to exist, and, what was more, had even proved its necessity in raising ideals and standards among the lads of the community.
“We’ll march out, fellows,” declared Rob, “and as each chap’s home or corner is reached he can fall out of the ranks.”
“Good idea,” was the cry, and then:
“Fall in! Fall in!” shouted Merritt.
“Lights out,” was the next order and the pushing of the electric light switch plunged the place into darkness.
“March!” and off they went, two by two, each Scout marching as smartly as a trained veteran.
Outside, on the landing, it was very dark. The blackness was made, so to speak, doubly black by the fact that they had just been in a brilliantly lighted room.
“Look out for the steps, boys! They’re steep!” warned Rob, as his detachment of young Scouts marched downward.
Hardly had he spoken when the two lads marching in front, Hiram and Paul, gave a stumble and a yell. The next instant they rolled down the steep stairway to the street. Before they could take advantage of the warning, three more pairs, including Merritt, had likewise executed a bob forward and gone toppling down the staircase to the sidewalk. They all landed in a heap.
“Look out there! The steps have been soaped!” Rob had just time to call out and save the rest from disaster.
The light from a street lamp gave a feeble gleam on the struggling group below. The rest of the boys, huddled for a moment above, by exercising great care, managed to get over the well-soaped and slippery steps without coming to grief. One of them was Andy Bowles.
“I just thought that Max Ramsay and Hodge Berry and their bunch were up to some tricks when I saw them round here, and I guess I was right, too. How about it, Rob?”
“I’m inclined to think you were,” responded Bob. “How are you, fellows? All right?” he asked as the downfallen Scouts picked themselves up.
“All present and accounted for,” declared Merritt, as they all stood up, vigorously brushing dust and dirt from their trig uniforms, “except for a few bruises I guess we’re all right.”
“Hark!” cried Hiram suddenly, “what’s that?”
From somewhere near by, possibly from some bushes that grew further down the street came the sound of suppressed giggling and cat-calls. There was no doubt as to what excited the merriment of the unseen scoffers, nor was there, in fact, any difficulty in guessing their identity.
Rob hardly knew whether to laugh or be angry. Others of the Patrol had no such hesitancy.
“It’s that Max Ramsay crowd,” shouted Tubby angrily. “Come out here if you’re not cowards.”
A sound of scuffling and retreating footsteps followed this challenge.
“There they go,” shouted Hiram, “the sneaks!”
“Let’s capture some of them and make them pay dearly for those soapy stairs!” shouted Paul.
“What about it, Rob?” asked Merritt anxiously.
But Rob shook his head.
“Let them go,” he said. “None of us are hurt, and if they are mean enough to find satisfaction in such tricks, let them.”
“Well, I’ll take it out of them for this skinned ankle sooner or later,” declared Tubby, hopping about and nursing the injured member.
“Same here,” came from one or two of the Scouts angrily. “They won’t get away with anything like that.”
“Humph! I’ve just recollected,” said Tubby suddenly. “There’s some rule or other that says Scouts mustn’t fight.”
Rob was instantly appealed to by half a dozen anxious voices owned by the victims of the soapy stairs.
“Well,” he said, “of course no Scout is supposed to engage in fisticuffs except in actual self-defense; but – well I guess there’s a limit.”
“And it’s been reached,” muttered Tubby vindictively.
“Fall in!” cried Rob.
“Humph! I just fell down,” grunted Tubby.
And then, without more discussion of the mean trick that had been played them, the Scouts marched off. After that glorious evening they all felt that they could well afford to ignore such contemptible pranks as those of Max Ramsay and his crowd.
As for Rob and Merritt, proud as they felt of the honor that had been paid them that night, they somehow could not help valuing even more highly the quiet thanks that had come to them from full hearts before the public demonstration had been thought of. It is a Scout’s duty to do his work without hope of reward, save that which comes from a sense of work well done, which, after all, is the best reward and the most enduring that any boy, or man, either, for that matter, can have.