FIREMAN JACK'S "LAST CALL."

Otago Witness, Issue 2387, 30 November 1899, Page 66

FIREMAN JACK'S "LAST CALL."

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and it was half dusk in the accident ward of the great hospital. The iigure in the bed under the large window moved uneasily. There was a passionate eagerness in the man's face, bruised and blackened as it was by the smoke and flames of a great fire. The doctor looked down at him and hesitated. He did not like to tell this rough hero of scores of fires, the best man in the whole brigade, that he had only an hour or so to live. It sceinsd cruel, and perhaps unnecessary. Presently the man spoke. " Please tell me, doctor; I sha'n't mind, never fear. But I should like tb know. Am I going to die, sir?" Again the doctor hesitated. " Doctor, you must tell me. Is there any hope?" ui\ % 1 the pleading voice . " Uniortunate.y. my friend, there is none." The man's eyes brightened, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor looked at him curiously. " You don't seem to b3 sprw, my man?"- " Sorry, doctor? Oh, nc — I'm glad. I'm happy. I've had enough of life. I've uo one to fret and worry for me when I'm dead, except Nellie — she's my daughter, doctor — and perhaps even she would curse her father if she knew how he has wronged her," and the man turned his face to ihe wall, weeping silently. '' Sir,'" he said presently, " don't go away. I've something to tell you — something I never told anyone before. It don't matter now I'm dying ; and you won't speak about it 'after I'm gone, will you, doctor? Thank you, sir. Bend down closer, I must whisper it softly; pray God I shall live long .enough to finish it." The light was fading gradually ; the beds at the far end of the long room looked like ghostly pieces of furniture, as in a low voice, broken every now and then by gasps for breath, the dying man told his tale. - "I will bsgin at the beginning of iLe trouble, sir. It will be all the plainer. "Ah ! how happy we all were, before George Martin cams courting my little Nell. He was a bricklayer by trade. My daughter ! she was a picture, with her blue eyes and ber hair like gold and cheeks like a half-open rof-e. There were only two of us, her Mid me ; for you tee, doctor, Nellie's mother died when she was a, little thing. Howwell I remember her last woids : ' Take care of Nellie, Jack,' said s-he. I tried to do my best, but " This George Martin seemed to be a respectable young man and fairly worshipped Nellie. No matter about that, she couldn't bear the sight of him, and wouldn't speak to him even. So I wasn't surprised when ho ceased to come, and we saw no more of j him. I wiph to Heaven we had never s-ecn him again. You must know, sir, that Nellie was apprenticed tc a dressmaker; for, you see, I was only a poor man, and , couldn't afford to keep her at home, aud, j moreover, when I was gone, she'd only her- I self to depend o». And -she was a bright, j hax-py girl, as light-hearted as the day is long. Why, I seem to hear her now, singing about ihe house as she got my breakfast ready, with a voice as clear and sweet as a bird's. At first she was perfectly happy. Many girls would have wanted fine dresses a-nd gay life^ but she never murmured or grumbled. Then I noticed that she began to be later and later coming home of an evening, and her face was flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. I asked her once why s»Tie was so late. She answered that they were busy at the shop, and all hands had to stay to get the work done. I did not notice at the time that she turned crimson for a moment and then went very pale. " Many times sir.cc I have called myself a fool, but I never thought that she could be deceiving me. * The days went by, and one afternoon, coming home earlier than usual, I found her in the kitchen talking to a. young niau. — a fine, lall t dark chaj> —

good-looking, .1. suppose you'd call him. B» was making himself quite, at home, swinging a handsome cane in his hand, with a cigarette between his lips, laughing and chatting with Nellie as though she and him had known each other for years. " He stood up as I entered the room, and held out his hand in an affable, easy way. 'This is your father, Nellie?" he asked, and she blushed prettily as* she told me how she had come to know him. His name was Harry Forster. It turned out that she had dropped a small parcel one night, and ho had picked it up and returned it. After that he had contrived .to see her home several times. Finally, he hoped that I diem't object to his keeping company with my daughter. '* He talked awhile . quite friendly, and then took his leave. But after that he was always lounging about our little house in h\i listless manner. _ I could see that* he was no common man, and I didn't like the idea of his hanging round my little girl. Whafc should a gentleman like he want with a. poor girl like her? " One day I asked him if he ever did any work, and what lie did for a living. He laughed as he told me he was. foreman in a builder's yard — didn't he look like it.? He laughed again when I said 'No,' for I knew that no workman could have such white hands and so little to do, and yefc have money to buy the presents he wes always giving Nellie. ( •' Gradually, I noticed that Nellie seemed to be losing her high spirits ; she began to be dissatisfied ; began to get nervous and cry when he did not come as usual, so I said to her one- day : — " ' Nellie,' said I, ' I don't quite like tho May you are cr.rrying on with that chap. What does he mean by it? He's a gentleman, anybody can see that, and a gentleman can't mean well by a girl like you. It's very plain he's a humbug; a bad. lot, and I n'c-an to tell him that he's not wanted here, unless, which is unlikely, he's going to mr.rry you.' , ■. } " She turned quite pale, and then broke dxron altogether. " ' Oh, father, don't say any more. I can't hear a word against him. Say you won't send him away. * You can't be so civ. el. I—lI — I love him!' " 1 soothed her and said no more jusfc then, but was all the more determined thafc it was best for him to go. The next day he came to the house as usual, and I told him very straight that I wanted no -more of his company. Ho took it quite quietly, and didn't attempt to persuade me; perhaps he thought it would be of no use. I thought — foof that I was — that Nellie would forjret him and settle down to her 01.l life. I loved her — I—lI — I worshipped her — thought she would not — could not. deceive * me. Maybe I wa-s wrong, sinful." Tlie man's voice and he laysilent for a few minutes. . - " You will pardon me, sir, but I think you can guess what happened. One mom- - ing when I jain« down to breakfast the table was not ready, the house was deserted. Gone ! Yes, she had gone, leaving not a word or a sign. At first I felt dazed, and I dragged myself pain fully to a chair and sas down. The little room seemed un-f.-iinjliar, str.wge; Ifc was awful lo think that, maybe, I should never see her again.For days I went about in a lost, aimless soit of way. The only time I coald forget that dreadful morning was when my duties carried me into dangerous places, and then thi excitemant and risk drove reflection out of my mind. ' " Two or ihree years passed and oue day, quite accidentally, I met George Martin. Talking witli him over old times, I asked {•tout Nellie, and he told me, 'after some hesitation, that he'd seen her one cold night in tl>e streets — her face white and thin — ■with a little baby in arms. Oh, Heaven ! how T have cursed him since that day. At th-2 lime I thought it must be true. He had gob tired of her and cast her off. perhaps, and then and there I vowed that if Harry Forster aud me ever came face to face it should go hard with him. And then I wondered why she did not come back to me. I would have forgiven, and taken her back. Folks told me I aged 20 years that night. In my agony and misery I prayed te' God to die. I wish I had died then ; it would have been best — much the best. " The man lay back on the pillow and the doctor hastened to moisten his parched lips. "I am drawing to the end, doctor. You recollect the great fire at Ashley Mansions about two years ago. How well I remember the scene; it seems to have only happened yesterday. In the midst of the excitement a man in the crowd suddenly cried out that he saw someone at one of the top windows. In a second a ladder was fixed and I ran up, for the fire was rapidly gaining ground, and the staircases were all in flames. "i broke the window frame and groped my way in, half suffocated by the smoke, and presently stumbled over the body of a man lying face downwards on the floor. I dragged him part of the way to the window, and the heat and jmoke were something awful. Suddenly the flames burst through the door, throwing out long, fiery arms as though they wished to tear us back from safety. In the sudden glare I saw the face of the man I was trying to rescue. I looked once, twice, and then I dropped tho bedy, and gasped for breath. Round us tho flames hissed and roared, and I could hear the shouts of the excited crowd. Tho water from a well-directed hose splashed through the window and jfell on ili^e face of the man. He stirred uneasily for a moment. It was Harry Forster; we'd met at iast! " I stood for a moment looking down afc him. I thought of many things. I remembered my vow ; it came back to me with almost s iresistible force. The f?ar..«> ver© now sweeping in through the floor, ■ and there was no time to lose. Still I hesi- . tated, and then in a sudden bursC of fire, and smoke I saw a picture. I saw it as , clear as day, doctor. It was a long, bleak street, there was snow on the ground, and — and there was Nellie, friendless and .• homeless, with a crying child in her arms. I And behind her seemed to lurk the form of ' % mac,—- I iiUiJd apt distinguish the features*.

It passed in" an instant, and I staggered kgainst the window. And then —and then 3^-oh God forgive me! I dragged the unconscious Forster to the door and flung him into the midst of the hungry flame.?. I had only time to reach the window and climb out on the ladder when the floor gave way and he was gone for ever. I staggered and stumbled down the ladder like a drunken man. When I reached the street again, dazed and stupefied, a woman rushed to my side —a woman with curling golden hair and sweet blue eyes. "„'Nellie!' "' Father !* "It was Nellie, sure enough; though she Vas dressed like a lady. I stared at her in astonishment. I could have caught her in my arms and kissed her, but she shrank away, her face white as a sheet, with trembling lips. Suddenly she turned to me and said, in broken, disjointed sentences : — "' Father, tell me —tell me, where is he?" " I did not answer; I could not. My brain seemed bursting. " She clasped my arm in a grip of iron. ' Father,' she said, and her words were hard, cold, and mechanical, ' where is he? My husband, my Harry, where are you?' "Her husband! Good Heavens, what had I done? I look-sd at her hoYror-strack, the red flames crackled madly up in one last great flare, and cast dancing shadows on her pale face,- and I saw the tear-drops stealing slowly down her cheeks. Then the noiss and the crowd and everything began to fade away like things in a dream. Presently I seemed to see nothing but tliis woman, my child, standing thero with her great pleading eyes fixed on my face. '''Father, tell me, what have you done with him? You went to save him, and now where is he?' " I made no answer, watching her us slio waved her hands distractedly. Suddenly she dashed har way through' the crowd and made an attempt to enter the Durum? debris, bat my mates held her br.ek. A minute or two late** the roof gave in with a crash and a roar, and the 3araes dashed upward. 1 saw her face Tor a moment, only a moment. Doctor, I have .never besn able to forget that look on my Nellie's face. Day and night it has haunted me. " Then the horror of it all turned me weak and giddy, something seemed to snap in ray head —l don't know much what happened. After a time I came to my senses and heard all about ifc from Nellie." They had been married the morning she ran away, and it was by her husband's desire that sho had never let me know. You see, his father was a gentlenvvu. and he was afraid there might be a row if it cam© to hk ears. As for what Martin had told me, it was all lies. He might have seen htv in the street, but not like he told me. The blackguard! how I wish I had never seen him. "Of course, at the inqu'sst it all -came out "about tho marriage. 'For the sake of the little girl I persuaded Nellie to go and see Hxrry's mother and tell her.everything. She "was so taken with the little one th:a she got round* the old gentlc-ninn to have the two of them to live with him. " That's my story, rtloutor, and perhaps you won't wonder no\4, why I have no wish to live. I've suffered more than words can tell." ■ He lay back exhausted. His gaze was fixed far away out of the large window, to where the setting sun was turning the clouds to crimson and t;old. His voice, when he resumed speaking sounded low and dreamy. " Doctor, do you know I've seen that pleading face before me many times since that terrible night. Ie has come to nic in my sleep, sometimes threateningly, but mostly 'pleadingly, ll ssemed to be asking : ' What have you done with my Harry? ' and then " Someone was coming swiftly and softly tip the room. It wa-s a lady dressed iii black, leading ai little, ti:i::en-haircd child by the hand. The dying man's eyes had wandered back from tha window to the approaching figures. Suddenly he struggled vp in bed and stretched out his lumdf\ " My daughter, my daughter!" and in a moment he was clusp^d in her .iims, while iha child made valiant attempts to climb upon the bed. The doctor slipped away for a few •minutes. 'What passed between father and daughter will never be known. There are some things which are belween a man or a woman and their Gcd only. When the doctor bustled into the room again, trying desperately hard not to break down altogether, the man was" lying with his hand clasped in that of his daughter's, while the little girl had nestled up on the bed. Meehanicnlry she began to rock, humming softly to herself, with a look of satisfaction upon her face. Her flaxen head dropped lower and lower, and finally she lay comfo'ftably against the soft, white pillow. There was a faint, sweet smell —the perfume from a bunch of violets at tha child's belt. The dying man drew ti breath of entire happiness. " Sing it, Nellie, dear,"' he murmured, drowsily. The child's inarticulate humming took words. It was an old plantation ditty, sung by negro minstrels round many a camp firo." The quaint words and the sweet, wailing melody mounded very impressive in the great, bare room: O, de vrorl' am roun' an' dc vrorl' am wide; O Lord, remember yqui chillun in dc mornin'! It's a mighty long way up de mountain side, And dey ain't no place wbar do sinners kin hide, • "When do Lord comes in de mornin*. Suddenly she stopped, laying her check against the hard shoulder of the silent man. His face looked very peaceful and contented. Thereafter that look never left it. The room was very still. Away at the far end a clock ticked" slowly and steadily, measuring the time, although time had cea«ed to bd measured there for the fireman \\ho had "answered to his last call."