I don't know what happened for the next few minutes; I turned away and
shut my eyes. Somehow or other they got him out and halfway down the
ladder, and then they let him slip. You see, he was unconscious from
all the smoke he'd swallowed, and the ladder was slippery with ice and
terribly wobbly. Anyway, when I looked again he was lying in a heap on
the ground, with the crowd all running, and somebody yelling to give him
air. They thought at first he was dead. But Dr. Metcalf from the village
examined him, and said his leg was broken, and two ribs, and that aside
from that he seemed whole. He was still unconscious when they put him on
two of the baby mattresses that had been thrown out of the windows and
laid him in the wagon that brought the ladders and started him home.
And the rest of us, left behind, kept right on with the work as though
nothing had happened. The queer thing about a calamity like this is that
there is so much to be done on every side that you don't have a moment
to think, and you don't get any of your values straightened out until
afterward. The doctor, without a moment's hesitation, had risked his
life to save Allegra. It was the bravest thing I ever saw, and yet the
whole business occupied only fifteen minutes out of that dreadful night.
At the time, it was just an incident.
And he saved Allegra. She came out of that blanket with rumpled hair
and a look of pleased surprise at the new game of peek-a-boo. She was
smiling! The child's escape was little short of a miracle. The fire had
started within three feet of her wall, but owing to the direction of the
wind, it had worked away from her. If Miss Snaith had believed a little
more in fresh air and had left the window open, the fire would have
eaten back. But fortunately Miss Snaith does not believe in fresh air,
and no such thing happened. If Allegra had gone, I never should have
forgiven myself for not letting the Bretlands take her, and I know that
Sandy wouldn't.
Despite all the loss, I can't be anything but happy when I think of the
two horrible tragedies that have been averted. For seven minutes, while
the doctor was penned in that blazing third floor, I lived through
the agony of believing them both gone, and I start awake in the night
trembling with horror.
But I'll try to tell you the rest. The firemen and the
volunteers--particularly the chauffeur and stablemen from
Knowltop--worked all night in an absolute frenzy. Our newest negro cook,
who is a heroine in her own right, went out and started the laundry
fire and made up a boilerful of coffee. It was her own idea. The
non-combatants served it to the firemen when they relieved one another
for a few minutes' rest, and it helped.