The Campers Out: or, The Right Path and the Wrong

“Now,” said Terry, “I will jine the wee spalpeens and thin give ye a lift, Delia.”

The Irishman was a powerful man, and the task thus far was of the easiest character. He drew himself through the door on the roof, and extending one brawny hand to his wife, was in the act of lifting her after him, when a scream from Maggie caused him to loose his hold and look round.

“What’s the matter wid ye, Maggie?” he asked.

“Kate has just rolled off the roof!” was the terrifying reply.

CHAPTER XXIX – A SAD DISCOVERY

The horror-stricken Terry thought no more about his wife, whom he was in the act of lifting through the trap-door, but let go her hand, allowing her to drop with a crash that shook the whole building.

“Where is the child?” he asked, facing the elder daughter.

“Yonder; I was trying to hold her when she slipped away and rolled down the slope of the roof – ”

But the father waited to hear no more. Just then the cry of his baby reached his ear, and he caught a glimpse of the white clothing which helped to buoy her up. Like an athlete, running along a spring-board to gather momentum for his tremendous leap, he took a couple of steps down the incline of the roof to the edge, from which he made a tremendous bound far out in the muddy torrent.

It was the energy of desperation and the delirium of paternal affection itself which carried him for a long way over the water, so that when he struck, one extended arm seized the shoulder of his child, while the other sustained both from sinking.

Poor Katie, who had been gasping for breath, now began crying, and the sound was welcome to the parent, for it proved that she was alive. Had she been quiet he would have believed she was drowned.

The trees which grew so thickly in the little valley served another good purpose in addition to that already named. The most powerful swimmer that ever lived could not make headway against such a torrent, nor indeed hold his own for a moment.

Terry would have been quickly swept beyond sight and sound of the rest of his family had he not grasped a strong, protruding limb by which he checked his progress.

“Are ye there, Terry?”

It was his wife who called. She had heard the frenzied cry of the elder girl at the moment she went downward herself with such a resounding crash. She was as frantic as her husband, and did that which would have been impossible at any other time. Grasping the sides of the trap-door, she drew herself upward and through with as much deftness as her husband a few minutes before. She asked the agonized question at the moment her head and shoulders appeared above the roof.

“Yis, I’m here, Delia,” he called back, “and Katie is wid me.”

“Hiven be praised!” was the fervent response of the wife; “I don’t care now if the owld shanty is knocked into smithereens.”

The speech was worthy of an Irishwoman, who never thought of her own inevitable fate in case the catastrophe named should overtake her dwelling while she was on the roof. She could dimly discern the figures of her husband and child, as the former clung to the friendly limb.

“If yer faat are risting so gintaaly on the ground,” said the wife, who supposed for the moment he was standing on the earth and grasping the branch to steady himself, “why doesn’t ye walk forward and jine us?”

“If my faat are risting on the ground!” repeated Terry: “and if I were doing the same, I would be as tall as a maating-house wid the staaple thrown in.”

“Thin would ye loike to have us join ye?” persisted the wife.

“Arrah, Delia, now are ye gone clean crazy, that ye talks in that style? Stay where ye be, and I would be thankful if I could get back to ye, which the same I can’t do.”

The wife had been so flustered that her questions were a little mixed, but by the time she was fairly seated on the roof, with one arm encircling Maggie, who clung, frightened and crying, to her, she began to realize her situation.

“Terry,” she called again, “are ye not comfortable?”

“Wal, yis,” replied the fellow, whose waggery must show itself, now that he believed the entire family were safe from the flood, “I faals as comfortable, thank ye, as if I was standing on me head on the top of a barber’s pole. How is it wid yerself, me jewel?”

“I’m thankful for the blissing of our lives; but why don’t ye climb into the traa and take a seat?”

“I will do so in a few minutes.”

There was good ground for this promise. Although Terry had been sustaining himself only a brief while, he felt the water rising so rapidly that the crown of his head, which was several inches below the supporting limb, quickly touched it, and as he shifted his position slightly it ascended still farther. While sustaining his child he could not lift both over the branch, but, with the help of the current, would soon be able to do so.

Requesting his wife to hold her peace for the moment, he seized the opportunity the instant it presented itself, and with comparatively little outlay of strength, placed himself astride the branch. This was all well enough, provided the flood did not keep on ascending, but it was doing that very thing, and his perch must speedily become untenable.

His refuge, however, was a sturdy oak, whose top was fully twenty feet above him, and, like its kind, was abundantly supplied with strong branches, so near each other that it was not difficult for the father to climb to a safe point, where he was confident the furious waters could never reach him.

Having seated himself in a better position than before, he surveyed his surroundings with some degree of composure.

“Delia,” he called, “I obsarve ye are there yit.”

“I’m thankful that yer words are the thruth, and if ye kaap on climbing ye’ll be in the clouds by morning.”

Now, while the rising torrent had proven of great assistance in one way to Terry and his infant child, it threatened a still graver peril to the mother and Maggie, who remained on the roof.

The house, being of wood, was liable to be lifted from its foundations and carried in sections down-stream. In that event it would seem that nothing could save the couple from immediate drowning.

Neither the husband nor wife thought of this calamity until she called out, under the stress of her new fear:

“Terry, the owld building can’t stand this.”

“What do ye maan, me darling?”

“I faal it moving under me as though its getting onaisy – oh! we’re afloat!”

The exclamation was true. The little structure, after resisting the giant tugging at it as though it were a sentient thing, yielded when it could hold out no longer. It popped up a foot or two like a cork, as if to recover its gravity, and the next moment started down the torrent.

It was at this juncture that Terry uttered the despairing cry which brought Dick Halliard and Jim McGovern hurrying to the spot on the shore directly opposite.

But unexpected good fortune attended the shifting of the little building from its foundations. Swinging partly around, it drifted against the tree in which Terry had taken refuge with his child. His wife and Maggie were so near that he could touch them with his outstretched hand.

“Climb into the limbs,” he said, “for the owld shebang will soon go to pieces.”

He could give little help, since he had to keep one arm about Katie, but the wife was cool and collected, now that she fully comprehended her danger. The projecting limbs were within convenient reach, and it took her but a minute or two to ensconce herself beside her husband and other child.

Quick as was the action it was not a moment too soon, for she was hardly on her perch and safely established by the side of all that was dear to her when the house broke into a dozen fragments, the roof itself disintegrating, and every portion quickly vanished among the tree-tops in the darkness.

“Helloa, Terry, are you alive?” called Dick Halliard.

“We’re all alive, Hiven be praised!” replied the Irishman, “and are roosting among the tree-tops.”

“It will be all right with you then,” was the cheery response, “for I don’t think the flood will rise any higher.”

“Little odds if it does, for we haven’t raiched the top story of our new risidence yit.”

Just then a dark object struck the ground at the feet of the boys, swinging around like a log of wood. Seeing what it was, Dick Halliard stooped down and drew it out of the current.

“What is it?” asked McGovern, in a whisper, seeing as he spoke that it was a human body. “Great Heavens! it is Tom Wagstaff!”

“So it is,” replied Dick, “and he is dead.”

“And so is Bobb Budd!”

CHAPTER XXX – A FRIEND INDEED

It was a shocking sight, and for a minute or two Dick Halliard and Jim McGovern did not speak.

Tom Wagstaff had been cut off in the beginning of his lawless career, and his dead body lay at the feet of his former companion in wrong-doing, with whom he had exchanged coarse jests but a short while before.

It was as McGovern declared, and as the reader has learned. When the Piketon Rangers heard the rush of the flood, each broke from the tent, thinking only of his own safety, which was just as well, since neither could offer the slightest aid to the others.

We have shown by what an exceedingly narrow chance McGovern eluded the torrent. But for the hand of Dick Halliard, extended a second time to save him from drowning, he would have shared the fate of Wagstaff. The particulars of the latter’s death were never fully established. He probably fled in the same general direction as McGovern, without leading or following in his footsteps, since his body was carried to the same shore upon which McGovern emerged. His struggles most likely were similar, but, singularly enough, he knew nothing about swimming, which, after all, could have been of no benefit to him, and he perished as did the thousands who went down in the Johnstown flood.

Terry Hurley overheard the exclamation of McGovern, the roar of the torrent having greatly subsided, and he called out to know the cause. Dick explained, and the sympathetic Irishman instantly quelled the disposition to joke that he had felt a short time before.

The boys were not slow in observing that the water was falling. When they first laid down the body the current almost touched their feet. In a short while it was a considerable distance away.

“I believe he was an old friend of yours,” said Dick, addressing his companion, who was deeply affected by the event.

“Yes,” replied McGovern; “him and me run away from home together.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because Satan got into us; we both have good homes and kind parents, but we played truant, stole, fought, and did everything bad. Bob Budd came down to New York some time ago, and we made his acquaintance; we were fellows after one another’s heart, and we took to each other right off. We showed Bob around the city, and then he made us promise to come out and visit him. It was his idea to form the Piketon Rangers.”

“I don’t know as there was anything wrong in that,” said Dick, who felt for the grief of his companion and was awed by the fate that had overtaken the others; “camping out is well enough in its way, and I would do it myself if I had the chance.”

“It isn’t that which I mean; it’s the way we have been going on since we have been together. I daresn’t tell you all the bad we did, Dick Halliard.”

“Never mind; don’t think of it.”

“I am going home as soon as I can; this will break up Tom’s folks, for they thought all the world of him.”

“It is bad,” said Dick, who saw how idle it was to try to minify the dreadful incidents; “but sad as it is, it will not be entirely lost if you do not forget it.”

“Forget it!” repeated McGovern, looking reproachfully in his face; “it will haunt me as long as I live.”

“I have been told that people often feel that way when great sorrow overtakes them; but,” added Dick, seeing his companion was grieved by his words, “I do not believe it will be so with you.”

“I have run away from home before, but I think this was a little the worst, for my father had everything arranged to send me to college, and I know his heart is well-nigh broken.”

“Not so far but that you can mend it by doing what you say you mean to do,” said Dick, thinking it wise to emphasize the truth already spoken.

McGovern made no reply, but stood for a minute as if in deep thought. Dick was watching him closely and saw him look down at the inanimate form at his feet. He sighed several times, and then glancing up quickly, said in an eager voice:

“Dick Hilliard, I wish I was like you.”

The words sounded strange from one who had been so reckless of all that was right, but never was an utterance more sincere – it came directly from the heart.

“Don’t take me for a model, for you can be a great deal better than I; you tell me you have good parents; all you have to do is to obey them.”

“You seem to doubt my keeping the pledge,” said McGovern, looking with curious fixidity in the countenance of Dick.

“I believe you are in earnest now, but what I fear is that you have become so accustomed to your wild life that you will forget this lesson.”

“Well,” sighed the stricken youth, “that must remain to be tested; all that I can now do is to ask you to suspend judgment, as they say.”

“You can give me your hand on it, Jim.”

It was a strange sight, when the two boys clasped hands on the bank of the subsiding flood, with the lifeless body at their feet, and one of them uttered his solemn promise that from that hour he would strive to follow the right path and shun the wrong one.

But that pledge, uttered years ago, remains unbroken to this day.

Dick Halliard was thrilled by the scene, which will always remain vivid in his memory. Despite the sorrowful surroundings a singular pleasure crept through his being, for conscience whispered that he had done a good deed in thus exhorting the wayward youth, and that it was on record in the great book above.

It was not the impressiveness of that silent form that so wrought upon the feelings of the youths, but the recollection of the missing one, whose body they believed was whirling about in the fierce currents of the torrent that was speedily exhausting itself in the deeper parts of the valley, or perhaps was lodged somewhere in the lower limbs of a tree, awaiting the morning for the shocked friends to claim it.

Considerable time had passed since the bursting of the dam, and the news of the calamity spread rapidly. People began flocking hither from the neighborhood, and before long there were arrivals from Piketon itself. These gathered at the scene of destruction and viewed it with bated breath. Some brought lanterns, but the broad space where the waters had reposed for so many years was clearly shown in the moonlight and made a striking sight.

The striking feature about the calamity, which, as we have stated, was never satisfactorily explained, was that the dam, which looked strong enough to resist tenfold the pressure, had not yielded in a single spot, as would be supposed, but had been carried away almost bodily. That is to say, three-fourths of the structure was gone, its foundations being on a level with the bottom of the pond in the immediate vicinity.

Perhaps the most probable explanation of the accident was that offered by an old fisherman, to the effect that muskrats had burrowed under and through the dam until it had been so weakened throughout most of its extent that when a giving way began at one point it was like knocking the keystone from an arch. Its results resembled those often shown by the explosion of a steam boiler, when only a few fragments remain to show what it once has been.

Before long a party reached the place where Dick and Jim were standing by the dead body of Wagstaff. When it was proposed to remove it the suggestion was made that it should not be disturbed until the arrival of the coroner, who could be called by morning to view the body. This practice, as the reader doubtless knows, prevails in nearly every portion of the country, and was adopted in the instance named.

Meanwhile Terry Hurley and his family, perched among the branches of the trees, were not forgotten. As soon as the waters subsided sufficiently, parties waded out, and by means of ladders that were quickly brought, soon placed the homeless ones safely on terra firma.

The haste of the flight had prevented the couple from doing much in the way of bringing needed garments, and the children, who were in their night clothes, suffered considerably. But they were now in the hands of good friends, who did everything possible. They were looked after, and it is a pleasure to say that no serious consequences followed.

Captain Jim Budd, the indulgent uncle of Bob, happened to be away from Piketon on the night of the great accident, but was expected back in the morning. Fortunately no one was so thoughtless as to hasten to Aunt Ruth with the news of her nephew’s death, and therein she was more favored than most people placed in her sad situation.

Dick Halliard made his employer his confidant as far as was necessary concerning Jim McGovern. The good-hearted merchant took hold of the matter at once.

Having obtained from McGovern the address of Wagstaff’s parents, word was telegraphed them and their wishes asked as to the disposition of their son’s remains. The father appeared that afternoon, and with the permission of the coroner took charge of them.

Mr. Wagstaff proved to be a man of good sense and judgment. He told Mr. Hunter that his life purpose had been to educate and bring up his five children, with every advantage they could require. He and his wife had set their hearts on preparing Jim for the ministry, but his wayward tendencies developed at an early age. He was the only one of the family to cause the parents anxiety, and he brought them enough sorrow for all.

This parent was one of those rare ones who saw his children as other people saw them. His boy had been as bad as he could be, and though the youngest of the three, no excuse was offered for him on that account.

“He has sown the wind and reaped the whirlwind,” remarked the father; “he chose the wrong path instead of the right, and no one is blamable beside himself.”

Mr. Wagstaff manifested deep interest in young McGovern, when he learned what the young man had said to Dick Halliard. His father was a prominent lawyer in New York, who had cherished the same hopes for his son as he, but he would not be controlled, and he, too, had run off to seek forbidden pleasures.

But the caller was touched by what he had heard as to the youth’s change of feelings. He sought him out, and was pleased with his talk. The same train which bore the remains of Wagstaff to New York carried also Jim McGovern on his way to join his parents who had known nothing of him for days.

CHAPTER XXXI – DICK HALLIARD IS ASTOUNDED

There were hopes until the following morning that Bob Budd might have escaped the flood. The fact that one of the Piketon Rangers had managed with help to extricate himself gave slight grounds for belief that a second had been equally fortunate.

This hope grew less and less as the night passed, and the people wandering up and down the valley, hallooing and calling the name of Bob, received no response. Only a few retained the slightest expectation of ever seeing him again.

Long before morning broke the flood had spent its force. Such a vast outlet as the sweeping away of most of the bank was like the sliding doors which admit passengers to the ferryboat. It was of such extent that the supply quickly ran out.

In the middle of the valley, where the whole force of the torrent was felt, large trees had been uprooted and hurled forward with a momentum which helped to uproot others in turn.

The prodigious power rapidly diminished as the ground rose on either side, until it was seen that the trunks were able to hold their own. There was considerable dislocation of vegetation, so to speak, but nothing to be compared to that in the middle of the valley.

The sheet of water had been plentifully stocked with fish, which were now scattered everywhere along the valley, napping in little pools of water as they did on the muddy bottom of the pond itself. It was a veritable picnic for the small boys.

Captain Jim Budd was on the ground as soon after he heard of the loss of Bob as he could reach the place. He was thoughtful enough to arrange matters so that his wife should learn nothing of the occurrence until his return. He placed a trusted friend on guard to keep busy mongers from her.

Captain Jim was the contrast of Mr. Wagstaff as regarded the youth in whom he was interested. He proclaimed to every one that Bob was not only the brightest, but the best principled boy in Piketon and the neighborhood. Had he lived he would have made his mark in the law or ministry or whatever profession he chose to honor with his attention. He had always been truthful, honest, and obedient, and his loss was in the nature of a general calamity.

It seems incredible that a man of sense should talk in this fashion, and not only utter such words, but believe them. The reader, however, who has heard other parents talk, can credit the statement that such was the fact.

The first thing that Captain Jim did, after learning the facts, was to offer a reward of one thousand dollars for the recovery of the body of his nephew. No doubt, he said, the whole neighborhood would insist on attending his remains to the grave, that they might render a fitting tribute to one thus cut off in the prime of his promising young manhood. The Captain, therefore, felt it his duty to defer to so proper a desire. He would erect a monument over the remains, to which parents might impressively point, as they urged their offspring to emulate the virtues of Robert Budd.

The large reward offered for the recovery of the body resulted in the employment of fully a hundred and sometimes more people, who roamed up and down the narrow valley through which the flood had swept from early morning until darkness forced a cessation of the search.

Some three miles below the bursted dam the valley widened to fully double its width. There naturally the current expanded and lost the tremendous power displayed above. Most of this portion, like the rest, was covered with trees, so that places innumerable existed where a body might be hidden, thus making it almost impossible to find it unless by a fortunate accident.

The surprise was general that the search should be prosecuted so long and so thoroughly without result. It seemed that every foot of ground had been covered and no spot left unvisited. The bushy tops of trees, prostrate trunks, timbers, undergrowth, shrubbery, rifts of leaves, and, indeed, everything that looked as if it could hide a body as large as a dog were examined again and again, but without the slightest success.

An excitement was roused by the report, the second day after the search had been instituted, that the body had been recovered, but it proved to be the remains of a heifer that was unfortunately caught in the swirl and was unable to save herself.

Gradually the belief spread that Bob Budd’s remains would never be found, and most of the searchers gave up the task. A few, prompted by the promise of a still larger reward, kept at it, hoping that some lucky chance might give them the opportunity to earn more money than they could do otherwise in several years.

The disappointment was a sorrowful one to Captain Jim Budd and his wife Ruth, the news having been broken to the latter. They could not reconcile themselves to the thought that their beloved nephew should be denied the last rites that were paid to the humblest individual; and while all knew the character of the missing young man, they deeply pitied his relatives.

Dick Halliard returned to his duties in the store of Mr. Hunter more thoughtful than ever before. He was grateful that McGovern had shown so strong a resolution of reforming his life and turning from his evil ways, but it was shocking to recall that Wagstaff and Bob Budd were placed beyond the power of undoing the evil they had committed.

Bob, as we have shown, was a native of Piketon, and had spent most of his life there. He was an only son, who was left a considerable fortune by his father, who appointed Uncle Jim Budd his guardian. This old gentleman, though he sometimes flared up and threatened Bob because of his extravagance and waywardness, was foolishly indulgent. Whatever firmness he might have shown at times in dealing with his nephew was spoiled by his wife, who refused the young man nothing that was in her power to grant. Bob was not naturally vicious, and his relatives were largely responsible for his going wrong.