THE ACCIDENT.
On Monday morning the company divided into little parties and went shopping, each to secure their own special needs.
Dorothy, Ruth, Alfaretta and Mrs. Calvert made one party. They went direct to Marshall Field’s and were admittedly amazed by what they saw, so stupendous is the place. They were surprised to find the store’s capacity so large and everything so fine, of such good quality, reasonably priced and conveniently arranged.
Mrs. Calvert bought a belt and a pair of gloves, and met such courteous attention and carefulness among the shop-girls as to be very much impressed. She said to Dorothy:
“Dear, I never before found shopping so pleasant. I wish I could always get everything I wished at Chicago, and especially here in this store, for it is directed wonderfully well.”
“I would like to send some souvenir postcards,” broke in Alfy. “Do you suppose I can get them here?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Dorothy. “I saw them, a large counter full of all kinds of views in and around the city; they were near the door which we entered.”
“You can write them right here, and send them off from the store,” added Aunt Betty.
“Come along then,” directed Ruth. “All this way who want post cards.”
They made their way to the counter where the cards were displayed and immediately were engaged in selecting views of the things and places they had seen in the city.
“Here is a very pretty card,” said Ruth. “It has the La Rabida on it. You remember the convent we saw in Jackson Park yesterday, where they had all of those Columbus relics?”
“Yes, and did you see this one?” asked Dorothy, holding up a card to view. “It’s the little Japanese Garden on the Wooded Island in the same park.”
“Look!” exclaimed Alfy, showing them all another card, “here is one of the Art Institute!”
Mrs. Calvert, who had been searching through the various cards, said, “I think these three are very interesting, this of the store, this one of our hotel, and this other of the Life Saving Station in the park.”
“Well, have you all selected those you wish?” said Dorothy. “Because, if you have, we can all go over there to the writing room and send them all right off.”
“What a beautifully appointed room,” said Mrs. Calvert, as they entered the spacious, well lighted writing room, with the mahogany desks and generous supply of good quality writing paper, pens, ink-wells, etc. There was also in the corner a stamp machine, in which one deposits the right change and secures the desired number of stamps in return.
“I want to send cards to Ma and Pa Babcock. Ma always likes me to, so she can show them down at Liza Jane’s,” said Alfy.
“I would like to send one to Gerald Banks and his sister, and, of course, to Jim,” said Dorothy.
“I think there are just two I wish to send. I want to send one to Mrs. Quarren,” rejoined Ruth, “and if you do not mind, I think I should like to send one to Jim, also.”
“Of course I don’t object,” laughed Dorothy. “Jim would be pleased to think you had remembered him. But let me see which one you are going to send him so I may send him a different one.”
“Very well,” answered Ruth. “I will send the one of the hotel.”
“And I,” responded Dorothy, “will send the one of the lake and Wooded Island in Jackson Park.”
“I think I shall send Jim a card also,” said Mrs. Calvert. “But I shall send him the one of the store. My list is just a little longer than all you girls’ lists. I shall send cards to Frau and Herr Deichenberg, little Lemuel and old Ephraim, and Jim, whom I mentioned before.”
“Shall I get the stamps?” said Ruth.
“Can I go with you?” asked Alfy. “I want to see how the machine works.”
“Certainly, come on,” added Ruth. “How many shall we need?”
“You had better get fifteen,” answered Mrs. Calvert.
“You see,” remarked Ruth to Alfaretta, “that one can only deposit nickels and dimes in the slot.”
“What are you going to put in?” questioned Alfy.
“I am going to deposit first a dime and then a nickel in the slot that’s marked for one cent stamps,” replied Ruth, suiting her actions to her words and picking up the stamps which the machine dropped into the receiving tray.
“That’s real fun,” said Alfaretta. “I’d always buy stamps here, but Ma Babcock would not like it.”
“Why not?” asked Ruth.
“Because Ma always wants to talk, and would not think she had her money’s worth without it.”
They put the stamps on the cards and then mailed them in the large gilt mail box near the door in the corner.
“I guess it’s most time for us to go back to the hotel for luncheon,” said Aunt Betty.
“Almost,” replied Ruth, looking at her small gold watch. “It’s now just eleven-thirty.”
“I want to get some blue ribbon,” said Dorothy, “before we leave for the hotel.”
“And I must get a veil,” added Ruth.
The girls departed on their quests and in less than two minutes met Mrs. Calvert at the door and all went back together to the hotel for luncheon. It was a quiet mid-day meal, and as soon as it was over they had to devote their attention to their trunks, as they were to leave that afternoon for their next stopping place.
Mr. Dauntrey and Mr. Ludlow attended to the baggage and the tickets and very soon all were ready.
Just as they were leaving the hotel to go to the station, Mr. Dauntrey singled Ruth out, and approaching her, said, “Will you come and walk down with me?”
“With pleasure,” said the girl, suiting her steps to his, and they started slowly to stroll down to the station.
“I have a box of Huyler’s here for you,” remarked Mr. Dauntrey. “I thought perhaps you would like it. I thought it would be nice for you to have on the train.”
“Why thank you ever so much. You are very kind.”
“Not half as kind as I would like to be, if you would only afford me the opportunity.”
Ruth made some answer that turned the conversation to some less personal subject. She kept up a run of chatter about indifferent matters.
So many people were upon the streets and so many conveyances on the roadways that progress was slow, and when they reached the station they found Mr. Ludlow very much provoked that Ruth should have kept them all waiting, nearly causing the loss of their train.
“Couldn’t you have walked a little faster, Ruth?” Mr. Ludlow asked. “Or taken the stage to the station if you were so tired? This must not happen again.”
Ruth, who disliked being reprimanded before everybody, angrily exclaimed, “Well, you didn’t have to wait here for me, I am sure, for you might have known that Mr. Dauntrey is capable of taking care of me, and, aside from that, I think I can take pretty good care of myself.”
Mr. Ludlow did not reply, but hurried them to their private car, the others of the party having preceded him. Very shortly they were speeding on their way.
Mrs. Calvert read a book, and Dorothy and Alfy were merrily chatting over their trip, so Ruth turned away from Mr. Ludlow and busied herself talking to Mr. Dauntrey and nibbling his chocolates and bon bons.
Mr. Ludlow, who had most of the time been looking out of the window, turned to Mrs. Calvert and said, “I think it looks as if we were going to have a bad storm. It looks to me as if the clouds have been following us up, and I’m afraid we are going to get it in a little while good and plenty.”
Mrs. Calvert looked out of the window and saw the storm clouds approaching and gathering for the downpour, and then her eyes wandered to the river beside which the train ran.
“Just look!” she exclaimed, pointing to the water. “Look, quick, at the river!”
“That is quite remarkable,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Just see how high the water is and how fast it is flowing.”
“Why it seems to be rising higher and higher by the minute as we go along,” responded Mrs. Calvert. “I can’t understand it, can you?”
“Oh!” shrieked Ruth at this moment, clinging to Mr. Dauntrey’s hand. “Oh, what an awful flash of lightning! Oh, how I hate an electric storm! Lightning scares me half to death.”
“I like it,” replied Alfy, looking across the dark, turbulent, swiftly moving stream. “I always like to watch it. And ‘up mounting’ we do have some awful storms. You remember them, don’t you, Dorothy?”
“Of course I do. Sometimes, though, I used to get a little scared. They used to be so very bad,” said the girl, and all the people in the car jumped as a loud crash of thunder followed a blazing streak of lightning. The thunder seemed right under their feet and was so loud and so sudden that all were startled for a minute.
Ruth jumped up and grabbed Mr. Ludlow around the neck and hid her face in his shoulder, moaning, “Oh, oh, I don’t like this at all.”
Mr. Ludlow, although he did not like to see the girl so overcome with nervousness, was decidedly happy that she should turn to him, and hoped perhaps that the storm would last forever, if he could continue to hold Ruth to him.
This awful clap was followed by another flash of lightning which lit up the car brighter than daylight. Mrs. Calvert, who was facing the window, looked out and gasped, “Oh, why don’t they stop the train?”
Then they all heard a mighty splash and the train gave a terrible lurch and threw those standing over on the floor and those sitting had a hard time to keep their places.
All the lights immediately went out and Alfy shouted, “We are struck!”
Some of the party shrieked and one or two fainted dead away. None could see the others in the terrible, black darkness in which they were enveloped.
At last, after a prolonged silence that seemed ages, Mrs. Calvert said. “Is any one hurt?”
Everyone began to collect their scattered thoughts by this time, and Mr. Ludlow had managed to rise from his fallen position and get Ruth up and into a seat. He grouped about in the pitch blackness into which they had been plunged and finally found his chair. He deftly managed to retain Ruth’s hand in his, in order to reassure her.
The answer Mrs. Calvert received in general was that everyone was safe and physically unharmed and mentally as near right as could be expected.
Mrs. Calvert then asked, “Did anyone see out of the window when the flash of lightning lit up this car?” And when she had received answer that no one had, she continued: “I happened to be sitting facing the window and when the flash came I saw out very plainly.”
“What did you see?” questioned Mr. Ludlow, in a firm voice.
“The river,” responded Mrs. Calvert. “The river was up to the tracks.”
The fact was suggestive of further danger, and then Dorothy questioned, “What was the crash? And why did the train lurch so? And why are all the lights out?”
“Maybe,” suggested Alfy, “maybe we were struck with lightning. Do you think so, Aunt Betty?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t understand where the train hands can be. They should be here to tell us what has happened.”
“Do you suppose we have struck another train?” questioned Dorothy.
“Oh,” groaned Ruth. “I wish we could have some lights. It’s so dark I am afraid something will happen, and maybe some one will be killed.”
“Hush, child,” remarked Mr. Ludlow. “Just be thankful things are no worse than they are, that we are all safe alive and none of us are hurt.”
Ruth subsided to silence and sobbed beneath her breath. Just then, George, the old negro porter, broke in on the excited party and endeavored to tell what was the matter.
“Lord o’ Mercy, massa!” he exclaimed. “De train am wrecked. The ingin and one ob de baggage cars did fall off these track, plump, splash, right in de water.”
“That’s what the crash and splash and jerk was that we felt. The water was so high that it probably came up on the tracks here, and the engine and baggage car jumped the weakened trestle into the water. I wonder how it was it didn’t pull the rest of the train into the water also,” said Mr. Ludlow.
Just then the conductor and a brakeman passing from the next car through their own explained what had occurred to Mr. Ludlow and the other interested listeners.
First lighting the gas lamps to dispel the semi-darkness, the conductor said, “Sir, you see the lightning struck the train right between the first passenger car and the baggage, severing the connection, and leaving the engine and baggage car free to go ahead. They did, and running a little farther ahead it jumped the track, but no one was hurt. The shock somehow set the brakes, and brought the remaining cars to a stop. It’s lucky we held to the tracks, sir, it is indeed.”
“Did anyone in the passenger cars get hurt?” questioned Mr. Ludlow.
“No, sir, only a few fainted,” answered the conductor.
“What are we going to do now? We have no power to go ahead, and we can’t even go back. We can’t move. Are we to stay right where we are, conductor?”
“For a time, we must,” was the answer.
“When is another train due here?” questioned Mrs. Calvert.
“A train is due to come through this way in an hour and a half, madam,” said the conductor. “But that will not help us any to go ahead. We have sent word back and may expect help from the nearest station. Some arrangement can likely be made to switch us off on a branch road, and by a circuitous route we can get back again to our line.”
“And how about our concert to-night?”
“If help is promptly sent we may get you there on time.”
“We were due at five o’clock,” said Mr. Ludlow.
“We can’t promise you anything definite now,” said the conductor, as he went about his duties.
“All we can do is to just sit still and hope for aid, and that it will come in time,” said Mrs. Calvert.
“I’m afraid that’s all, except to be thankful that we were not killed,” suggested Mr. Ludlow.
The exact idea of their position was finally grasped by all, and everyone breathed a little prayer for having been saved so miraculously. They all quieted down and prepared to sit there and wait, and hope for the arrival of a train bringing aid. An hour and a half, so they had been told, and that hour and a half seemed the longest hour and a half that most of them had ever experienced.
Finally they heard a shout from one of the brakemen, a glad shout, a joyous sign, they thought, and then the conductor came through and announced, “Sir, a small repair train has just come up to us. They sent it out very promptly, as they thought that we might be in even more serious need than we are.”
“Can it take us back, then?” asked Mr. Ludlow, and the rest of the company sighed in relief, because they now knew that they were safe and would eventually be pulled out of their present position.
“It can take back two cars, sir,” answered the conductor, “and would you object, sir, if I put some other passengers in here with you?”
“Not at all,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “Bring in as many as you wish. We will be only too glad to have them.”
The conductor departed, returning in a little time, accompanied by about a dozen women and half as many small children, saying, “I brought the women and young ones, as I thought that they would be more comfortable in here.”
Dorothy and Ruth, alert and interested, forgot their own discomfort in rendering aid to others, anxious and in distress.
“They have connected the little repair train engine to the two cars,” the conductor announced, “and we will be off in a short time now. We are going back up the road a little way and branch off, and so recover the main line. We think we will get you to your destination in time for your concert.”
This was done, but with little time to spare, and if all the artists were not quite up to their usual standard of excellence that night, the experience of the afternoon was quite sufficient excuse.
The remainder of the trip to St. Louis was without event of note. The accident on the train was not without its advantages in the way of publicity, and their concerts drew large audiences. In St. Louis two concerts were given, both being very successful.