CHAPTER XXXVII.
A PHALANX.
At the self-same hour—it was twelve o'clock at noon—Faller went to Lenz's home, wishing to tell him that he was now freed from the security for his house. It was raining and snowing alternately, and a violent wind drove the rain and snow about, so that it was scarcely possible to see through it. Faller, however, strode on sturdily, his head bent forward, struggling manfully with the storm. Suddenly he looked up, having arrived at his destination, when he rubbed his eyes, and stared round him aghast. Where have you got to? have you lost your way? Where is Lenz's house? He turned round and round, but could not understand where he was. Stop! there are the old firs that stand just in front of Lenz's house; but the house! the house! In his anguish of mind, Faller slipped into a snow wreath, and the more he struggled to extricate himself, the deeper he plunged in. He prayed to God, he cried for help—no one heard him. He managed to get hold of the trunk of a tree and to cling to the branches, for he could get no further; then a fresh avalanche came rolling down the hill, and carried the snow with it in its course, and Faller was free. And this last rush of snow having cleared the pathway, he hurried down into the valley. By the time he saw light glancing from the house, night had set in, and with shouts which quickly roused even those who were asleep, Faller cried aloud through the village: "Help! help!"
All hurried to their windows, and out into the street, when Faller declared that Lenz's house at the Morgenhalde was buried in the snow.
Faller rushed to the church, and rang the alarm bell. Very few people came from a distance; the weather was so dreadful, that the wind did not carry the sound of the alarm bell far.
Pilgrim and the Techniker were the first to arrive at the church door. There was no end to lamentations at this frightful occurrence, especially at night, and in such a hurricane. Pilgrim could not utter, he seemed frozen with horror.
The Techniker acted like a prompt and gallant young man. "Get ladders and ropes instantly," said he, "collect as many as you can, and shovels and hatchets."
Torches were lighted, while the storm, however, blew about wildly. Some women came also. They had tied their gowns over their heads as a shelter against the storm, and it was a strange sight to see these spectral looking figures, clinging to their husbands and sons, in the red light of the torches, and endeavouring to prevent their going to the rescue, from the fear of their being lost in the snow.
The Techniker wound the end of a long rope round his body—he assumed the command at once—and ordered six men, at considerable distances, to bind themselves together, so that they might not have to seek each other, and might be able mutually to assist each other out of a snow wreath, if they fell into one.
Pilgrim formed one of the band, and Don Bastian also offered to be one, but the Techniker told him to place himself at the head of another chain of men.
They took some dry wood with them to light a fire, and provided with a number of hatchets, shovels, and ladders, they set off up the hill. When they arrived at about fifty paces from the house—they could not get any nearer—a space was cleared of the snow in a sheltered spot, and a fire lighted. The ladders were placed against the mountain of snow, but they sunk in as soon as a man got on them; moreover the wind blew out the torches, and at intervals a cry was heard: "I am sinking!" Every kind of attempt was made, but all failed.
"Nothing can be done at night, and in such a storm," was the universal cry; at last it was resolved they should all go home; one watchman was to be left beside the fire. Faller immediately offered to remain, and Pilgrim wished also to stay, but the Techniker saw that his teeth were chattering from cold, and he insisted on taking him home, consoling him by saying, that if the inhabitants of the house on the Morgenhalde were still alive, help would be quite time enough in the morning.
In the village the report quickly spread, that Petrowitsch must be buried along with them in the snow, as he had gone to Lenz's house that morning, and had not returned; his comrade Ibrahim, when he heard the alarm bell, had run into the street with a pack of cards in his hand saying: "I am waiting for Petrowitsch." Pilgrim said to his new friend: "It would indeed be sad, if Petrowitsch at last resolved to assist Lenz, and lost his life on that account."
Pilgrim reproached himself severely for having spent the whole day in childish games with Wilhelm, for a kind of presentiment had drawn him towards the Morgenhalde—a sensation as if some misfortune had happened there; but he had persuaded himself that this feeling was purely imaginary, and had gone on playing with his godson; now he sat beside the child's bed till his eyes almost closed from fatigue, thinking how little the boy, who was sleeping soundly, anticipated what a misfortune this night might bring on his head—indeed perhaps had already brought on him.
Faller remained at his post like a soldier on the field, and a comrade stood with him—a dial maker, who had once been a sapper and miner. They held a council together how this snow fortress was to be stormed, but they could discover no mode of setting to work. Faller in the mean time stirred and replenished the fire on the side of the hill, furious that he could find no way to rescue his friend.
A stranger joined them at their watch fire; it was a messenger from the neighbouring town, who had been sent to summon Annele to her mother, who was dying.
"Fetch her out!" said Faller in bitter sorrow; "she is below there."
He then related what had occurred, and the man went homewards in the darkness.
Faller ventured to skirt the uprooted wood, by a bye path; if he could only reach the fir trees before the house, then aid would be nearer. In company with the dial maker, he pushed some large logs lying on the side of the hill, towards the fir trees; several were precipitated down, and remained standing upright in the snow, while one rolled down the hill, and rested on the firs.
"Good Heavens!" said his companion, "the large logs that we have rolled down, are sure to come in collision with the roof, and to crush to death the unhappy inmates."
"I am the most stupid wretch that ever lived, the most senseless, the most idiotical; now I shall have been the cause of your death, my dear, good Lenz!" cried Faller in despair.
After a while he managed to crawl on a bridge formed by the trunk of a tree, and succeeded in setting fire with his torch, to several trees that were heaped together on that spot.
"That will melt the snow surely," cried he, elated.
"Yes, but it may catch the straw thatched roof," replied his comrade.
Faller stood transfixed, but soon began to roll huge snowballs on the top of the fire, and succeeded in extinguishing it just as day broke.
It was a bright morning, almost as warm as a spring day; the sun shone warmly on the Morgenhalde, seeking the house that he had greeted for so many long years, but could no longer find it; he sought its master, who was always so quiet, and yet so busy, seated at early dawn working at his window, just like his father before him, and his grandfather before that; but neither house nor master was to be found, and the sun's rays blinked strangely, and flickered hither and thither, as if they had lost their way; the treacherous snow displayed its broad glittering white surface, as if saying: "Do your worst." The sun sent down fiery, burning rays, and melted the outposts, but the fortress itself must be besieged for days.
The men had all reassembled, with the Techniker at their head; and from the adjacent village, and many other parishes besides, there were plenty of stout hands ready to work.
The trees rolled down by Faller, at all events served as a firm support, and, miner fashion, a path was dug out below, and above also the work went on quickly, and according to a regular plan.
A solitary raven kept constantly flying among those who were clearing away the snow, and would not be driven away. Its companions in the air screeched to it in vain; it paid no attention to their cries, but watched those who were at work, as if it had something very particular to communicate.