"It is very sad that the hut of poor Peegwish has been carried away,"
observed Miss Martha Macdonald, while presiding at the breakfast-table.
"Yes, it iss fery sad," responded Angus Macdonald, in a somewhat
unamiable tone; "but it iss more sad that he will pe living in our
kitchen now, for that wuman Wildcat must pe there too, and it iss not
coot for Wildcat to live in the kitchen. She will pe too fond of the
kitchen altogether, an' she will pe a greater thief than our own cawtie,
for she is more omniferous an' not so easy to scare."
"But cook is as good as a weasel at watching cats," returned Martha,
with a smile; "and it is reason we have to be thankful we have no
heavier trouble, Angus, for many of the people up the river are driven
out of their houses."
"What you say iss true, Martha. Just pefore breakfast I met that
Cherman crater, Winklemann, ridin' to the mission-house for help. The
ice would pe scrapin' the end of his gardin, he was tellin' me, an' if
the ruver would pe risin' another fut it would come into the house. He
says the people are goin' off to the mountain like flocks of sheep,
carryin' their coots and trivin' their cattle pefore them. It is fery
pad times, whatever."
In the parlour of Willow Creek House the breakfast party enlarged on the
same theme.
"Things look serious," observed Samuel Ravenshaw, as he commenced his
third egg. "If the water rises at this rate much longer, not only the
houses that stand low on the river banks, but the whole settlement will
be in danger. It is said that four houses and a barn were swept away
last night by the force of the ice somewhere above the mission premises,
and that about sixty people slept in the church."
"It is well that our house stands high," said Mrs Ravenshaw. "Don't
you think, Sam, that we might have the barn prepared, in case some of
our neighbours have to leave their houses?"
"The barn is ready, mother," said Elsie. "Father and I have been
arranging it all the morning with the aid of Peegwish, poor fellow, who
has been sent to us by Macdonald."
"Ay, and it's as trim as an hospital," added Mr Ravenshaw; "but I hope
it won't be wanted. The ice is now clearing away. When it is gone, the
river will be sure to fall.--Tell the boy to saddle the horse, Cora,"
continued the old gentleman, attacking his fourth egg. "I shall ride up
to see how Winklemann gets on. Lambert is helping him."
"Is Lambert's own house safe?" asked Elsie, with a glance at her sister.
"Safe enough just now," replied her father; "for it stands much higher
and further back."
"Don't forget old Liz Rollin," said Elsie. "Her hut stands high, but if
things get worse she will be in danger, and there is no one to look
after her, you know."
"No fear of my forgetting the mother of the man who is helping to search
for my dear boy," returned Ravenshaw, "besides, old Liz is not without
friends. Both Louis and Winklemann have promised to keep their eyes on
her."
This reference to the mother of Michel Rollin turned the thoughts of the
party into a channel that was very familiar, for the lost Tony and his
brother were seldom absent from their thoughts. Of late, however, they
had ceased to talk much of the absent ones, because, as months flew by
without any tidings, their anxieties increased, and as their fears
increased they felt less inclined to talk hopefully. Long before the
breaking up of the ice Mr Ravenshaw had sent off an expedition at his
own cost in search of the searchers. It consisted of a trusty Indian
and two half-breeds. They were to cross the plains towards the
Saskatchewan district, and make inquiries among the fur-traders there;
but nothing had yet been heard of them, and although the face and figure
of Tony were never absent from the old man's memory, his name was not
now so frequently on his lips.
A sigh from Miss Trim revealed clearly the nature of _her_ thoughts.
Poor Miss Trim! Her occupation was almost gone since Tony's
disappearance. Besides losing the terrible and specific task of
teaching Tony his lessons, the amiable lady had lost the general duty of
keeping Tony in order, putting right what Tony had put wrong, and,
generally, undoing what Tony did. She also missed painfully those
little daily attentions to her hands and shins, which were rendered
necessary in consequence of Tony's activity with his nails and the toes
of his boots, to say nothing of his teeth. For many weeks past--it
seemed to her years--Miss Trim had not bandaged a cut, or fomented a
bruise, or mollified a scratch with ointment. She absolutely felt as
though she had suffered bereavement.
The silence which had descended on the breakfast-table was not broken
until Mr Ravenshaw's horse was reported ready at the door. On his way
to the main road the old gentleman had to pass close to the summer-house
on the knoll so much coveted by Angus Macdonald. There he reined up a
few minutes. The position commanded an extensive view, and the aspect
of the river was sufficiently alarming. The ice, which by that time had
broken up, was rolling and crashing along with inconceivable force
before the impetuous torrent. The water had risen to such a height that
the lower lands were completely inundated. That it was still rising was
made obvious by the fact that the rolling masses at the river-sides were
being thrust higher and higher on obstructing points, carrying bushes
and trees before them. Even while he gazed a lofty elm that grew on a
low part of Angus Macdonald's property was overthrown as if it had been
a mere twig, and swept away. Several young maple and oak trees further
down shared the same fate a few minutes later.
The house of Angus was full in view. It occupied a mound nearly, though
not quite, as high as the knoll on which he stood, and was still, like
his own dwelling, far above the reach of the raging flood. The spot
where the hut of Peegwish had stood was by that time deep below the
surface of the ice-torrent.
Mr Ravenshaw did not remain long in contemplation. The weather, which
had been stormy, became suddenly cold, and a blinding fall of sleet
induced him to button his greatcoat up to the chin as he hastened away.
Arriving at the mission station after a gallop of several miles, he
found a state of things which almost beggars description. Men, women,
and children were hurrying to and fro, laden with their chief valuables,
or driving carts loaded with household goods, which they deposited on
the mission premises for safety, preparatory to the desertion of houses,
which was expected to take place on the morrow. Goods of every
description were scattered about in wild confusion, for many of the
people were half mad with alarm. The missionary, with his assistants,
was doing his best to reduce the chaos to order.
Farther up the river Mr Ravenshaw encountered Herr Winklemann bearing a
huge arm-chair on his shoulders. "Mine hause is toomed!" he said.
"Doomed? I hope not. Where are you going with the chair?"
"To zee hause of old Liz."
Without waiting for a rejoinder the stout German hurried on, and was
soon lost to view among the bushes. Ravenshaw followed him shortly
afterwards, and found old Liz arranging and piling away the belongings
of Winklemann, who, after depositing the arm-chair by the side of the
fire opposite the corner occupied by Daddy, had returned to his doomed
house for more. Anxious to know in what condition his friend's house
was, the old gentleman took the road to it. The house of old Liz, as we
have said, stood high, and well back from the river. It had been made a
place of refuge by the nearest neighbours, and was not only filled but
surrounded by goods and furniture, as well as live stock. A dense mass
of willow bushes, by which the little hut was surrounded, completely
shut out the view all round, except backward, in the direction of the
prairie, so that Ravenshaw did not come in sight of the spot where the
flood had already commenced its work of destruction until he had
traversed a footpath for nearly a quarter of a mile. Many wet and weary
settlers passed him, however, with their possessions on their backs, and
here and there groups of women and children, to all of whom he gave a
cheering word of hope and encouragement.
On clearing the bushes the full extent of desolation was presented to
view. The river here had overflowed its banks, so that a large part of
the country wore the aspect of a lake. Knolls and slight eminences,
which in happier times had been scarcely observable, now stood boldly
out as conspicuous islets, while many farmhouses were either partly
submerged or stood on the margin of the rising waters which beat against
them. There was a strong current in some places, elsewhere it was calm;
but the river itself was clearly traceable by the turmoil of crashing
ice and surging water which marked its course. Men and women were seen
everywhere--in the water and out of it--loading carts or barrows with
their property, and old people, with children, looked on and shivered,
for the thermometer had fallen to five degrees below the freezing-point
of Fahrenheit's scale, as indicated by the thermometer at the parsonage.
The sleet had ceased, and the wind had fallen, but dark masses of
clouds hurried athwart the lowering sky, and the dreary character of the
scene was heightened by the poor cattle, which, being turned out of
their warm places of shelter, stood on knolls or in the water and lowed
piteously.
One of the most conspicuous objects of the scene, from Ravenshaw's point
of view, was poor Winklemann's house--a small one which stood on a low
spot already surrounded by water. In front of it was Winklemann
himself, wading through the flood, without coat or hat, and carrying a
large bundle in his arms.
"What have you got there?" asked Ravenshaw, as German went staggering
past.
"Mine moder," he replied, and hurried on.
Herr Winklemann had a mother--as old as the hills, according to his own
report, and any one who beheld her feeble frame and wrinkled visage
might well have believed him. With tender regard for her welfare her
stout son had refrained from removing or even alarming her until the
last moment, partly from fear that fright and the removal might do her
serious injury, and partly from the hope that the flood had reached its
highest point; but when the danger to his dwelling became great he
resolved to carry her to the hut of old Liz, and, as a preliminary step,
had removed her old arm-chair, as we have seen, to be ready for her
reception. On returning to the house, however, he found that a portion
of the river bank above had unexpectedly given way, diverging the flood
a little in that part, so that his dwelling was already a foot deep in
water. The old woman, however, lay safely on the bed where Winklemann
had placed her, and was either unconscious of, or indifferent to what
was going on. She did indeed look a little surprised when her son
wrapped the blanket, on which she lay, completely round her, and took
her up in his arms as if she had been a little child, but the look of
surprise melted into a humorous smile as he drew the last fold over her
face. She clearly believed it to be one of her dear boy's little
practical jokes, and submitted without a murmur.
Staggering through the flood with her, as we have said, Winklemann
carried her to the cottage of old Liz, who received her with tender
care, helped to place her in the big chair, and remembering Daddy's
tendency to fall into the fire, tied her securely therein.
Meanwhile Winklemann ran back to his house, where he found Mr Ravenshaw
and Louis Lambert assisting several men to secure it on its foundations
by tying it with ropes to the nearest trees.
Joining these, he lent his powerful aid; but a power greater than his
was at work, which could not be resisted. Not only did the water rise
at an alarming rate and rush against the house with tremendous violence,
but great cakes of ice bore down on it and struck it with such force as
to make every timber tremble. Like all the other houses of the
settlement, it was built entirely of wood, and had no other foundation
than the levelled ground on which its framework stood.
When the water rose considerably above his knees, and ice-floes
threatened to sweep him away, Mr Ravenshaw thought it was time for an
elderly gentleman to retire. The others continued for some time longer
securing the ropes and, with poles, turning aside the ice; but ere long
they also were driven to the higher ground, and compelled to stand idly
by and watch the work of destruction.
"You've got everything out, I fancy?" asked Lambert.
"Everyt'ing," replied Winklemann, with a deep sigh; "not'ing is left but
zee hause."
"An' that won't be left long," observed Mr Ravenshaw, as a huge mass of
ice went against its gable-end like a battering-ram.
It seemed to be the leader of a fresh battalion of the destroyer. A
succession of ice-floes ran against the house and trees to which it was
fastened. An additional rush of water came down at the same time like a
wave of the sea. Every one saw that the approaching power was
irresistible. The wave, with its ice-laden crest, absolutely roared as
it engulfed the bushes. Two goodly elms bowed their heads into the
flood and snapped off. The ropes parted like packthread; the building
slewed round, reeled for a moment with a drunken air, caught on a
shallow spot, and hung there.
"Ach! mine goot old hause--farvell!" exclaimed Winklemann, in tones of
deepest pathos.
The house bowed as if in recognition of the old familiar voice, sloped
into deeper water, gurgled out its latest breath, like a living thing,
through its doors and windows, and sank beneath the wreck and ruin of
its old surroundings.
It was what men aptly term a clean sweep, but Winklemann's was not the
only house that succumbed to the flood on that occasion. Many besides
himself were rendered homeless. That night, (the 4th of May), the
waters rose four feet, and the settlers even on the higher grounds began
to think of flight.