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THE HEROISM OF MARTHY

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Nov 1, 1905

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 31, No. 44.

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THE HEROISM OF MARTHY.

By Lissie C. Farmer

[Lissie C. Farmer, in Country Gentleman.]
"Marthy, come here!"
An awkward, overgrown negro girl of about fifteen years of age presented herself before her mistress in answer to the call.
"Marthy, I am going to town and will be gone two or three hours, and you must look after Beatrice while I'm gone. Don't let her get into any mischief—"
"Please, ma'am, what am mischief?"
"O well, don't let her do anything she oughtn't to while I am away."
"Please, ma'am, what oughtn't she to do while you're gone?"
"Well, she oughtn't to do anything to hurt herself; and you must stay right with her—mind that, now, Marthy—you must stay right with her all the time. Don't let her be away from you, not even for a minute."
"Yes, ma'am," responded Marthy, dutifully.
Half an hour later she was alone with Beatrice, while Mrs. Hagen was speeding away over the Kansas prairie to the nearest town.
"Come heah, honey lamb," she called to Beatrice. "I'se gwine to take awful good care ob you whille youh ma's gone. I ain't to let you out ob my sight foh a minute—you mind dat—not eben foh a minute."
"What'll we do, Marthy, while mama's gone? You tell me stories, Marthy."
So Marthy told some of the wonderful stories that had come down to her from a former generation of dusky darkies, and Beatrice listened till her curly, golden head began to nod, and she slipped away from Storyland to Dreamland.
"Now I don't see no hahm," soliloquized Marthy, "in me takin' a little nap, too. I'll stay right beside dis honey lamb like as Missus Hagen said, and I ain't gwine to sleep real sound—jes' take a little cat nap, kase it's so wohm and sleepy-like." The black, woolly head was soon still in slumber beside the golden one.
"O, Marthy, Marthy! Wake up! There's a terrible storm coming."
Marthy rubbed her eyes and jumped up on hearing this call from Beatrice.
"Come to the window, Marthy. Isn't that awful?"
Marthy's big dark eyes bulged out in terror.
"It is a sly coon comin', honey lamb, and what in de worl' is we gwine to do?"
"What is a sly coon, Marthy?"
"O, you blessed honey lamb, don't you know? A sly coon's a terrible big, powehful win, dat takes up houses and trees and blows dem clean to nowah, and it'll jus' take you and me and blow ebery bit of haih clean off ouh heads."
"O, Marthy, will it blow mama away? O, I wish mama was here," and Beatrice began to cry.
"So do I, honey lamb, but don't cry. I promised youh ma dat I'd stay right beside you, and dar won't no sly coon get you away from me." She caught Beatrice up in her arms just as the first force of the cyclone struck the house.
"Don't you cry, honey lamb; don't you cry," she admonished, but Beatrice heard not a word of what was said, for the horrible noises of the cyclone swallowed up all other sounds.
A huge mass of living and inanimate things was rolling and churning about the house. Horses neighed, cattle bellowed, dogs howled and snarled, wild creatures, torn from their haunts and borne along with their enemy, man, to the same destruction, screeched and screamed and wailed and growled and whined; women sobbed and moaned, and men cried out in agony. Stately trees that had grown through long years to a hoary age of dignity suddenly grew young and frisky, and dancing and gamboling through all their boughs and leaves, careened away skyward.
The prince of the power of the air was taking his subjects on a lightning excursion from nobody knew whence to nobody knew whither, and they had no choice but to bend to his iron will.
Through all the tearing and the swaying and the grinding of boards and posts and trees, a kinky, woolly head kept close beside a golden one. They rose; they fell; they rolled; they tumbled, according to the caprice of the Storm King, but nothing could tear the faithful negro girl away from her duty.
Suddenly they felt a still coldness rising about them. The tempest had grown tired of part of its burden, and had cast these two down, with boards and trees and branches and all sorts of debris about them, into the middle of a little stream; not small now, but angry and swollen with the heavy rain that had been falling all the time.
"O, Marthy, Marthy, where are we now?" piped the childish voice.
"We's all right, and ain't killed yet, honey lamb, and don't you think you'se gwine to be drowned, honey lamb, kase I'se a-prayin' powehful agin it."
"Marthy, where do you s'pose mama is?"
"De good Lawd only knows, honey lamb. She ain't at home, kase we's brought most ob de house with us. She must be somewhah, but de good Lawd only knows whah."
"O, Marthy! we're getting deeper in the water! Why, Marthy, it's clear up to your waist. Can't you get out, Marthy?"
"No, honey lamb, my knee is ketched fas in somethin', and I kain't move."
"O, Marthy, Marthy! the water's getting deeper and deeper all the time. Why, it's up to my waist now, Marthy!"
"Don't you be gettin' scared, honey lamb, kase I'se a-prayin' all de time powehful hahd dat you won't get drowned. Dere's a lot ob stuff piled up down dar and de water's backin' up, but you jes' climb up on dat board out ob de water, and I'll hold you dar, so you kain't get drowned. Dat's de way! Now you's clean out ob de water."
"O, Marthy, Marthy! The water's clear up to your neck now—O—O—O!"
"Don't you be scared, honey lamb, kase I'se prayin' powehful hahd—"
From the bank of the stream a woman's voice cried out: "O, there they are! There they are!" A mother's quick eye took in the whole situation. "Hold on a little bit longer, Marthy, and the men will be there."
"O, Missus Hagen! O, Mister Travers, I'se so glad you've come, kase I kain't hold on much longer. De water's clean up to my mouf now."
The men waded into the stream, but before they could reach the two, the arm that held Beatrice in place above the water had fallen senseless and the kinky head sunk beneath the gurgling yellow waters, but Beatrice was rescued unhurt, and the faithful negro girl's prayers were answered.
"Can't you save Marthy, too?" screamed Mrs. Hagen from the bank. The men were trying.
They got her head above water and released the mangled foot; then bore her out of the stream, where they worked with her until the big eyes opened once again. She saw her mistress bending over her.
"O, Missus Hagen, won't you forgive me?" she sobbed.
"Forgive you? What in the world have I to forgive you for, Marthy?"
"Kase I went to sleep and let the sly coon come and take Beatrice away. O, I'se so sorry, Missus Hagen, dat I went to sleep and let the sly coon come!"
"Why, you blessed child, you couldn't have stopped the cyclone if you had been awake."
"Den you ain't mad at me, Missus Hagen?"
"Mad at you, child? Well, I should think not, after you saved my little girl's life."
"O, I'se so glad you ain't mad;" and Marthy laid back and closed her eyes with a great sigh of relief.