The Telegraph Messenger Boy by Edward Sylvester Ellis (books to read for 12 year olds TXT) 📕

who they were.

I stayed at the river-side for an hour, weighed down by the greatest grief of my life. I was anxious to do something, but there was absolutely nothing for me to do. Ben was gone, and his friends could not begin an intelligent search for him before the morrow.

I turned on my heel to go home, when a shout went up that the span on the other side of the center was going. There could be no doubt that the splintering crash and the grinding swirl of waters and ice were caused by the destruction of that span which dissolved into nothingness almost in a moment.

This started the cry that the timbers nearest us were breaking up.

Those who were on it made a rush for shore, which was not reached a minute too soon. The entire span suddenly lifted up and was "snuffed out" so promptly that the wonder was how it had withstood the flood so long.

This occurrence struck me as decisive of the fate of my young friend Ben Mayberry. It gave me an appreciation of the tremendous irresistibility of the freshet, which must have ended the lives of the hapless party almost on the instant. The bravest swimmer would be absolutely helpless in the grasp of such a terrific current, and in a night of pitchy darkness would be unable to make the first intelligent effort to save himself.

At last I went home through the drizzling rain, as miserable a mortal as one could imagine. When I reached the house I was glad to find that my family were still asleep. It would be time enough for them to learn of my affliction and the public disaster on the coming morrow.

The pattering of the rain on the roof accorded with my feeling of desolation, and I lay awake until almost daylight, listening, wretched, dismal, and utterly despairing.

I slept unusually late, and I was glad, when I went down to my breakfast, to learn that some kind neighbor had told my family all I knew, and indeed, a little more. The river rose steadily until daylight, by which time it was two feet above the abutments, and not a vestige of the bridge remained.

But the water had reached its highest point, for, after remaining stationary an hour, it had begun to fall, and was now a couple of inches lower than "high-water mark."

There were two things which I dreaded--the sight of the furious river, and to meet the sad, white face of Ben Mayberry's mother. I felt that I could give her no word of comfort, for I needed it almost as much as did she. She must have abandoned all hope by this time, and her loss was enough to crush life itself from her.

When walking along the street I found that everyone was talking about the unexampled flood. It had overflowed the lower part of the city, and people were making their way through the streets in boats. Scores of families were made homeless, and the sights were curious enough to draw multitudes thither.

I kept away from every point where I could catch so much as a glimpse of the freshet.

"You have robbed me of the brightest and best boy I ever knew," I muttered, in bitterness of spirit; "he was one whom I loved as if he were a son."

The shadow of death seemed to rest on the office when I reached it. The loss of Ben Mayberry was a personal affliction to everyone there. Only the most necessary words were spoken, and the sighing, which could be heard at all times, came from the heart.

I went to my desk in a mechanical way, and had just placed my hand on the instrument, when I was thrilled by a call which I would have recognized among a thousand. Others heard and identified it also, and held their breath. The next instant this message reached me:

"Dear Mr. Melville--Tell mother I am all right, but in
need of dry clothing.

"Ben Mayberry."


CHAPTER VII

A THRILLING VOYAGE

On the night that Ben Mayberry started across the bridge to deliver the cipher message to Mr. Burkhill in Moorestown, he had reached the center span before he felt he was in personal danger. The few lamps which twinkled at long distances from each other were barely enough for him to see where he was going, and they did little more than make the darkness visible.

By the faint light he observed a carriage and single horse approaching. The animal lifted his feet high, walked slowly, and snuffed the air as he turned his head from side to side, like an intelligent creature which feels he is approaching danger. The rattling of the narrow planks under his hoofs and the carriage wheels could be heard above the roar and sweep of the angry river beneath.

Suddenly the bridge trembled under a blow received from a gigantic piece of ice, which went grinding and splashing with such violence that its course could be followed by the bulging upward of the planks between Ben and the horse.

"My gracious! this won't do," exclaimed the boy, more alarmed for the vehicle and its occupants than for himself.

He ran forward to grasp the bridle of the horse with the purpose of turning him back, when he saw that he had stopped of his own accord, and was snorting with terror. Ben reached up to seize the bit, when he was made dizzy by the abrupt lifting of the planking underneath, and was thrown violently forward on his face.

The brave boy knew what it meant, and kept his senses about him. It was utterly dark, and he was in the icy water with a terrified horse struggling fiercely, and in danger of beating out the boy's brains with his hoofs, while the shriek of the agonized mother rose above the horrid din:

"Save my child--save my child!"

Fortunately for Ben Mayberry the bridge broke up in a very unusual manner. Instead of the roof coming down upon him, it seemed to fall apart, as did the narrow planking. Thus his movements were not interfered with by the structure, and realizing what a desperate struggle for life was before him, he drew off his cumbersome overcoat with great deftness, and then swam as only a strong swimmer can do in the very extremity of peril.

He heard nothing more of the horse, which had doubtless perished after a struggle as brief as it was fierce; but, unable to see anything at all, Ben struck out toward the point whence came the cry of the mother, and which was close at hand.

He had scarcely made three strokes when he came in violent collision with a huge block of ice in his path. Without attempting to go around it, he grasped the edge, and, by a determined effort, drew himself upon it. Fragments of the bridge were all around, and he felt some of the timber upon the support.

While crawling carefully toward the other side, he shouted:

"Helloa! where are you? Answer, and I'll help you."

A faint cry made itself heard amid the rushing waters and the impenetrable darkness. It was just ahead, and the next instant Ben had reached the other side of the ice raft, where, steadying himself with one hand, he groped about with the other, uttering encouraging words as he did so.

Suddenly he caught hold of a delicate arm, and with another cheery shout, he began drawing with all his strength.

It was a hard task, under the circumstances, but he quickly succeeded, and was not a little amazed to find that instead of a lady he had helped out a small girl.

But it was the cry of a mother that had reached his ears, and he did his utmost (which unfortunately was little) to help her. He called again and again, but there was no answer. He asked of the child the whereabouts of her parents, but the little one was almost senseless with bewilderment, cold, and terror, and could give no intelligible answer.

"She must be drowned," was the sorrowful conclusion of Ben, who was forced to cease his efforts; and I may as well add at this point, that he was right; the mother's body being carried out to sea, where it was never found.

For the time, Ben and the little girl were safe, but it will be seen that their condition was pitiable. It was a wintry night, the water was of an arctic temperature, and their clothing was saturated. The icy floor on which they were supported would have added to their terrible discomfort, had he not been able to gather together several of the planks within reach, with which he made a partition between them and the freezing surface.

Ben shouted at the top of his voice, but he was so far below the place where the bridge had stood that no one heard him, and he finally gave it up, knowing that even if he made himself known to friends, they would be powerless to help him so long as the darkness lasted.

The child, so far as he could judge, was no more than nine or ten years old, but she was richly clad, as he learned from the abundance of furs, silks, and velvet. She had luxuriant hair, which streamed about her shoulders, and he was sure she must be very beautiful.

She was alive, but faint and suffering. She did not wish to talk and Ben did not urge her, although he was curious to know her identity.

"I will learn all in the morning," he said to himself; "that is, if we are spared until then."

He was too excited and terrified to fall asleep, even had his discomfort not been too great to permit it, and he found he needed his wits about him.

Now and then the cake of ice which supported them was crowded by others, until it seemed on the point of being overturned, in which event another terrible struggle would be necessary to save himself and the little girl.

Then again, there seemed to be eddies and whirlpools in the current, which threatened to dislodge them or to break up the miniature iceberg into fragments, as the bridge itself was destroyed.


CHAPTER VIII

THE CIPHER TELEGRAM

The almost interminable night came to an end at last and the dull gray of morning appeared in the east.

Ben Mayberry chafed the arms of the little stranger, and even slapped her vigorously to prevent her succumbing to the cold. He was forced to rise to his feet himself at intervals and swing his arms and kick out his legs, to fight off the chilliness which seemed to penetrate to his very bones.

As soon as the boy could make use of his eyes he found himself drifting through the open country, where the river was fully double the width at Damietta. This gave the masses of ice much more "elbow room," and decreased the danger of capsizing.

Houses and villages were seen at intervals, and multitudes of people were along the bank gathering driftwood and "loot," and watching the unparalleled flood of waters.

Ben swung his hat and shouted, and at last