A Captain in the Ranks Part 35
"I've enough coffee, flour, and mola.s.ses," she answered, "to last through. But the fresh meat will be exhausted by to-morrow night. The hams will help out, for breakfasts, but they won't go far among two hundred men. I'm sorry I couldn't have brought more."
"You could not have got through at all if your loads had been heavier,"
said Duncan. "We must simply do the best we can with what we've got. The coffee alone will go far to sustain the men, and the mola.s.ses will be a valuable subst.i.tute for meat. I still have hopes that we shall win."
"Oh, we _must_ win, you know. You mustn't allow yourself to think of anything else."
"We'll try, at any rate, and with your superb courage to help us, I think we shall win."
It was six o'clock on the morning of the last day, when the night gave its first intimation of a purpose to come to an end. In the slow-coming gray of the dawn, the torches still flared, casting long and distorted shadows of the work-weary men, as they continued their toil. During that last night the entire company had been kept at work in a last desperate effort to accomplish the end so vitally necessary. All night long Duncan had done what he could to encourage the toilers, while Temple had given his attention to such devices as might shorten the task, or otherwise facilitate its doing. All night long Barbara had busied herself furnishing limitless coffee as an atonement for the insufficient food the men had had since her supplies of meat ran out, two days before.
During the last half hour the rain had almost ceased, and Guilford Duncan had indulged an anxious hope that the skies might clear away with the sunrise, but just as the gray of morning began to give light enough for the workmen to see without the aid of the torches, the downpour began again, more pitilessly than ever.
Its discouraging effect upon the already exhausted men was instantly apparent. A dozen of them at once quitted work and doggedly sat down in the mud of the embankment. Two or three others, reckless of everything but their own suffering, stretched themselves at full length to sleep where they were--too weary and hopeless, now, even to seek the less uncomfortable spots in which to rest their worn-out bodies.
"Six hours more," said Duncan, looking at his watch. "Only six hours between us and triumph. Only six hours--and we must lose all, simply because the men are done up."
"We'll do it yet," answered young Temple.
"We never can. Those fellows are done for, I tell you. I know the symptoms. They've lost their _morale_, lost the ambition for success.
I've seen soldiers fall in precisely that way, too far gone even to shelter themselves from a cannonade."
For the first time in his life, Guilford Duncan realized that there is such a thing as the Impossible. For the first time, he recognized the fact that there may be things which even courage and determination cannot achieve.
The simple fact was that the long strain had at last begun to tell, even upon his resolute spirit. For three days and nights now he had not slept. For three days and nights he had not sat down. For three days and nights he had been wading in water and struggling in mud, and exhausting all his resources of mind and character in efforts to stimulate the men to continued endeavor.
He was playing for a tremendous stake, as we know. His career, his future, all that he had ever dreamed of of ambition, hung upon success or failure in this undertaking, and now at last, and in spite of his heroic struggle, failure stared him in the face.
And apart from these considerations of self-interest, there were other and higher things to be thought of. If he failed now, an enterprise must be lost in which he had labored for a year to induce others to invest millions. If he failed, the diversion of this railroad from its original course must become an accomplished fact, to the ruin of his adopted city and the paralysis of growth in all that region, for perhaps ten years to come. Thus his own career, the millions of other men's money, which had been risked upon faith in his power to achieve, and, worst of all, the development of all this fair, but very backward region--all of good to others, of which he had dreamed, and for which he had hoped and toiled--depended upon his success or failure in keeping two hundred utterly worn-out men at work in the rain, the water, and the mud, for six hours more.
At last, this resolute man, whose courage had seemed unconquerable, was discouraged.
"Might as well give it up," said Will Hallam. "The men simply will not work any longer."
"It isn't a case of will not, but of cannot," answered Duncan.
Barbara heard all, as she hovered over the fire of logs, and busied herself with her tasks, regardless of rain and weariness, regardless of every consideration of self. She wore no wraps or protection of any kind against the torrents of rain. "They would simply bother me," she said, when urged to protect her person. Her face was flushed by the heat of the fire, but otherwise she was very pale, and her tightly compressed lips were livid as she straightened herself up to answer Duncan's despairing words.
"You are wrong," she said. "They can work a little longer if they will.
It is for us to put will into them. Call them to the fire, a dozen or twenty at a time, for breakfast. I've something new and tempting for them--something that will renew their strength. You and Captain Hallam and Mr. Temple must do the rest."
A dozen of the men had already come with their tin cups to drink again of the strong coffee that Barbara had been serving to them at intervals throughout the night. She had something more substantial for them now.
She had by her a barrel full of batter, and she and the negro boy, Bob, each with two large frying pans, were making griddle cakes with astonishing rapidity. To each of the men she gave one of the tin plates, with half a dozen of the hot cakes upon it, bidding each help himself to mola.s.ses from the half barrel, from which, for convenience of ladling, Bob had removed the head.
"This is breakfast," she said to the men, as they refreshed themselves.
"There'll be dinner, and a good one, ready for all of you at noon, when the work is done."
The men were too far exhausted to greet her suggestion with enthusiasm.
The few words they spoke in response were words of discouragement, and even of despair. They did not tell her that they had decided to work no more, but she saw clearly that they were on the point of such decision.
The breakfast she was serving comforted them and gave them some small measure of fresh strength, but it did not give them courage enough to overcome their weariness. The girl saw clearly that something more effective must be devised and done.
She puckered her forehead quizzically--after her manner when working out a problem in arithmetic. After a little the wrinkles pa.s.sed away, and lifting her eyes for a moment from her frying pans, she called to Captain Hallam:
"Would you mind coming here a minute?" she asked.
The man of affairs responded, wearily, but promptly.
"What is it, Barbara?"
"May I spend two thousand dollars, if I get this job done by noon?--that's the last minute, Mr. Duncan tells me."
"But how can you----"
"Never mind how. May I have the two thousand dollars?"
"Yes--twenty thousand--any amount, if only we succeed in pushing that car on rails across the county line before the clock strikes twelve."
"Very well. I'll see what I can do. Mr. Duncan, can you cook griddle cakes?"
"Happily, yes," answered he. "I'm an old soldier, you know."
"Very well, then. Please come here and cook for a little while--just till I get back. I won't be long."
Duncan took command of her two frying pans. A little amused smile appeared on his face as he did so, in spite of his discouragement and melancholy. But to the common sense and sincerity of the girl, there seemed nothing ludicrous in setting him thus to the undignified work.
Intent upon her scheme, she darted away to where the several gangs of men were still making some pretense of working. To each gang, she said:
"I've got two thousand dollars for you men, if you stick to your work and finish it before noon to-day. I'll divide the money equally among all the men who stick. It will be ten dollars apiece, or more. Of course, you'll get your triple wages besides. Will you keep it up? It's only for a few hours more."
Her tone was eager, and her manner almost piteously pleading. Without the persuasiveness of her personal appeal, it is doubtful that the men would have yielded to the temptation of the extra earning. Even with her influence added, more than a third of them--those who had already cast their tools aside and surrendered to exhaustion--refused to go on again with a task to which they felt themselves hopelessly unequal. But in every gang she addressed, there was a majority of men who braced themselves anew, and responded. The very last of the gangs to whom she made her appeal put their response into the form of a cheer, and instantly the other gangs echoed it.
"What on earth has that girl said or done to the men to fetch a cheer from them!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Will Hallam.
"Reckon Little Missie's jest done bewitched 'em," responded Bob, as he poured batter into his pans.
A moment later Barbara, with a face that had not yet relaxed its look of intense earnestness, returned to the fire, and resumed her work over the frying pans.
"Thank you, Mr. Duncan," was all she said in recognition of his service as a maker of griddle cakes. But she added:
"The men will stick to work, now, I think--or most of them, at any rate.
Perhaps you and Mr. Temple can do something to shorten it--to lessen the amount."
Then, turning to Bob, she issued her orders:
"Bring the hog, Bob, as quickly as you can. There's barely time to roast it, before noon."
The men had nearly all had their breakfasts now, so that the making of griddle cakes had about ceased. Hallam, Duncan, and the young engineer, Temple, taking new courage from Barbara's report concerning the disposition of the men, were going about among the gangs, wading knee deep in water and mud, and giving such directions as were needed.