On the night of the 15th the gale broke out again with redoubled fury,
and the stage at the mission station was shaken so much by the violence
of the waves and wind that fears were entertained of its stability,
despite its great strength. The water rose six inches during that
night, and when the vast extent of the floods is taken into account,
this rise was prodigious. The current was also so strong that it was
feared the church itself, with the property and people in its loft,
would be swept away.
Towards daylight a boat was seen approaching. It turned out to be that
of Mr Ravenshaw, containing himself and Lambert, with a crew from
Willow Creek. The house of the old gentleman had, he said, much water
in the lower rooms, so that he had been driven to its upper floor; but
he felt sure of its strength, having himself helped to lay its
foundations. Knowing the danger of those who dwelt in the parsonage, he
had come to offer an asylum to as many as his house would hold. But Mr
Cockran declined to quit his post. The gale was by that time abating,
the cheering daylight increasing; and as he had a large boat of his own
moored to a neighbouring post, he preferred to remain where he was. Mr
Ravenshaw therefore ordered Louis to hoist the sail, and bidding adieu
to the clerical party, returned to Willow Creek.
Of all the household there, Miss Trim had viewed the approach of the
water with the greatest anxiety and Mrs Ravenshaw with the greatest
philosophy. Miss Trim, being an early riser, was the first to observe
the enemy on the morning of its entrance. She came down-stairs and
found the water entering the house quietly by the sides, oozing from
under the boards and secretly creeping along till it covered the floors.
She rushed up-stairs to alarm Mr Ravenshaw, and met that active old
gentleman coming down. He set to work at once to rescue his goods on
the lower floor, while Miss Trim, in great excitement, went and roused
the girls, who leaped up at once. Then she went to Mrs Ravenshaw's
room.
"Oh, Mrs Ravenshaw, get up quick; the flood is coming in at last--over
the floors--through the chinks--up the seams--everywhere--do--do get up!
We shall all be--"
She stopped. A long-drawn sigh and a gentle "hush!" was all the reply
vouchsafed by Mrs Ravenshaw.
A quarter of an hour later Miss Trim came nervously back. "It's
_rushing_ in now like anything! Oh, _do_ get up! We may have to fly!
The boards of the floor have been forced up, and they've had to take the
door off its hinges--"
She stopped again. Mrs Ravenshaw, with placid face and closed eyes,
had replied with another gentle "hush-sh!"
Descending once more, Miss Trim was met by a sudden stream, which had
burst in the back door. Rushing again into the old lady's bedroom, she
cried vehemently, "Woman! _won't_ you get up?"
"Why should I?" asked the other in a sleepy tone. "Isn't Samuel looking
after it?"
"Of course he is, but--"
"Well, well," interrupted the old lady, a little testily, "if _he's_
there it's all right. _He_ knows what to do, I don't. Neither do you,
Miss Trim; so pray go away and let me sleep."
Poor Miss Trim retired discomfited. Afterwards when the family were
driven to the upper storey of the dwelling she learned to regard things
with something of Mrs Ravenshaw's philosophy.
One morning at daylight there was a calm so profound that the sleepers
at Willow Creek were not awakened until the sun rose in a cloudless sky
and glittered over the new-born sea with ineffable splendour. It was a
strange and sad though beautiful sight. Where these waters lay like a
sheet of glass, spreading out to the scarce visible horizon, the
grass-waves of the prairie had rolled in days gone by. There were still
some knolls visible, some tops of trees and bushes, like islets on the
sea, and one or two square masses of drift-wood floating slowly along
with the now imperceptible current, like boats under full sail. Here
and there could be seen several wooden houses and barns, some of which
had come down from the upper parts of the settlement, like the hut of
old Liz, and were stranded awkwardly on shoals, while others were still
drifting over the watery waste.
All this was clearly visible from the windows of the upper room, in
which slept the sisters Elsie and Cora, and presented itself to the
former when she awoke like a vision of fairyland. Unable to believe her
eyes, she rubbed them with her pretty little knuckles, and gazed again.
"How beautiful!" she exclaimed.
The exclamation awoke Cora, who sat up and yawned. Then she looked at
her sister, and being only half-awake, smiled in an imbecile manner.
"Isn't it?" asked Elsie.
"Splendid!" replied Cora, turning to the windows. "Oh, I'm _so_
sleepy!"
She sank on the pillow again and shut her eyes.
"Come, Cora, let us finish the discussion we began last night about
Louis Lambert," said Elsie, with an arch smile.
"No, I won't! Let me sleep. I hate Louis Lambert!" said Cora, with a
shake of her uppermost shoulder.
Elsie laughed and rose; she was already dressed. Mr Ravenshaw had on
the previous night ordered both his daughters to lie down in their
clothes, as no one could tell what might happen to the house at any
moment. The flood had not yet begun to abate; Elsie could tell that, as
she sat arranging her hair, from the sound of water gurgling through the
lower rooms.
We have said that the Ravenshaws had been driven by the floods to the
upper floor of their residence. This floor consisted of three bedrooms
and a lumber-room. One of the bedrooms was very small and belonged to
the sisters, to whose sole use it was apportioned. For convenience, the
other two rooms were set apart on this occasion as the male and the
female rooms of the establishment, one being used by as many of the
women as could get comfortably into it, the other by the men. The
overflow of the household, including those neighbours who had sought
refuge with the family, were accommodated in the adjoining barn, between
which and the main building communication was kept up by means of a
canoe, with Peegwish and Wildcat as the ferrymen. The lumber-room
having had most of its lumber removed, was converted into a general
hall, or _salon_, where the imprisoned family had their meals, received
their friends, and discussed their trials. It was a rather dusty place,
with sloping roof, no ceiling, and cross-beams, that caused cross
tempers in those who ran against them. In one corner a door, removed
from its hinges, did duty as a dresser. In another Mr Ravenshaw had
erected a small stove, on which, being rather proud of his knowledge of
cookery, he busied himself in spoiling a good deal of excellent food. A
couple of planks, laid on two trunks, served for a table. Such cooking
utensils and such portions of light furniture as were required had been
brought up from the rooms below, that which was left having been
weighted with large stones to prevent its being carried away, for the
lower doors and windows had been removed to prevent their being driven
in or out, as the case might be.
So complete was the destruction everywhere, that Samuel Ravenshaw had
passed into a gleeful state of recklessness, and appeared to enjoy the
fun of thus roughing it rather than otherwise, to the amusement of his
amiable wife, who beheld his wasteful and daring culinary efforts
without a murmur, and to the horror of Miss Trim, who was called upon to
assist in and share the triumphs as well as the dangers of these
efforts.
"Fetch the pepper now, Miss Trim. That's it, thank 'ee.--Hallo! I say,
the top has come off that rascally thing, and half the contents have
gone into the pan!"
He was engaged in frying a mess of pemmican and flour, of which
provender he had secured enough to stand a siege of at least six months'
duration.
"Never mind," he continued; "in with more flour and more pemmican.
That's your sort. It'll make it taste more like curry, which is hot
enough, in all conscience."
"But pepper is not like curry," said Miss Trim, who had a brother in
India, and was consequently a secondhand authority on Indian affairs.
"Curry is hot, no doubt, and what one may call a seasoning; but it has
not the flavour of pepper at all, and is not the colour of it, and--"
"Yes, yes, _I_ know all about that, Miss Trim. Why, there's a box of
it, isn't there, in the little cupboard on the stair? I quite forgot
it. Fetch it, please, and we'll have real pemmican curry; and rouse up
my lazy girls as you pass. Don't disturb Mrs R, though. The proverb
says, `Let sleeping'--no, I don't mean _that_ exactly. By the way,
don't slip on the stair. The water's about up to that cupboard. Mind,
there are six feet water or more in the passage now, and if--"
He stopped, for Miss Trim had already left the room, just as Lambert
entered it.
The cupboard to which Miss Trim had been sent was an angular one, let
into the wall to utilise a crooked corner. The step of the stair
immediately below it was the last dry one of the flight. From that step
to the bottom was held by the flood, which gurgled oilily through the
deserted basement. Descending to that step with caution, and gazing
anxiously at her own image reflected below, she opened the cupboard
door.
Now, it chanced that Angus Macdonald's Cochin-China hen, having been
driven from its own home by the flood, had strayed into Mr Ravenshaw's
house and established itself, uninvited, in the cupboard. It received
Miss Trim with a croak of indignation and a flutter. Starting back with
a slight, "Oh!" the poor lady fell; and who shall adequately describe,
or even imagine, the effects of that fall? Many a time had Miss Trim
descended that stair and passage on her feet, but never until then had
she done so on her back, like a mermaid or a seal! Coming to the
surface immediately, she filled the house with a yell that almost choked
the hearers, caused old Ravenshaw to heave the pemmican curry into the
lap of Lambert, and induced Lambert himself to leap down-stairs to the
rescue like a harlequin. The bold youth had to swim for it! A gurgle
at the far end of the passage told where Miss Trim was going down, like
wedding announcements, for the third and last time. Lambert went in
like an otter, caught the lady in his arms, and bore her to the
staircase, and thence to the upper floor in a few minutes. She was at
once taken to the sisters' bedroom, and there restored to life and
lamentation.
"My dear," said Mr Ravenshaw to his wife when she appeared, "you'd
better look after our breakfast--I've made a mess of it, and I'll go
over to Angus Macdonald and invite him and his household to come and
stay with us. Their house must be almost afloat by this time."
The old gentleman hailed Peegwish, who was outside in the canoe at the
moment.
That would-be brewer at once made for the house, paddled his canoe
through the doorway and up the passage to the staircase, where Wildcat,
who managed the bow paddle, held on by the bannister while Mr Ravenshaw
embarked. Reissuing from the doorway, they made for their neighbour's
residence.
Macdonald's house had indeed become almost uninhabitable. It stood so
deep in the water that only the upper windows were visible. The
chimneys and roofs of some of the outhouses formed, with the main
building and a few tree-tops, a small Archipelago.
"You are fery kind, Mr Ruvnshaw," said Angus from an upper window,
beneath which the canoe floated. "It iss not improbaple that my house
will pe goin' down the river like a post, but that iss nothing--not
anything at all--when there will pe such a destruction goin' on all over
the settlement whatever. It iss fery coot of you, oo ay. I will put my
fuddle into the canoe, an' my sister she will pe ready at wance.--Wass
you ready, Martha?"
A voice from the interior intimated that Miss Martha would be, "ready in
two minutes."
"Pe quick, then," said Macdonald, looking inwards while he lowered his
violin, to which he was passionately attached, into the canoe, "you hef
not much time to waste, Martha, for it wass time we will pe goin'."
In a few minutes Angus Macdonald's house was abandoned to its fate, and
himself and sister, with a couple of domestics, were added to the number
of refugees who crowded to the abode of hospitable Sam Ravenshaw.
"Hef you forgotten the cawtie?" asked Angus of his sister, while
assisting her to land on the steps from which Miss Trim had taken her
dive.
"No, Angus, I've got it in my basket, but I fear the poor old hen has
been lost. It's all over the house I sought for it before comin' away,
but--"
A triumphant cackle from the cupboard overhead interrupted Miss Martha.
"Ha! ha!" shouted Mr Ravenshaw; "thats where the sound came from this
morning! And I do believe it must have been that brute which caused
Miss Trim to fall into the water."
With a twinkle in his eye, the old gentleman related the incident of the
morning, while Angus, with a grim expression, kept his eye on Beauty,
who gazed inquiringly out at the half-open door of her retreat.
"It iss a pad craitur you've peen--fery pad--ever since I got you, but
it iss no more mischief you will pe dooin' after this--whatever."
Angus seized the unfortunate hen by the neck as he spoke, and flung it
along the passage, where it fell into the water, and went cackling and
choking through the doorway.
Beauty's powers were varied as well as surprising. Although thus, for
the first time in her life, compelled to take to the water, she swam as
well as any duck, and went straight off as if by instinct, to the
forsaken house. From the window of the lumber-room Angus saw her reach
it, scramble, somehow, on to its roof, and there utter a crow of
defiance that would have done credit to her defunct husband. There was
one other object besides his own house and surroundings which Angus saw
from that window. It was the smoking-box on the willow-clad knoll,
which formed a separate island in the flood. The sight stirred up
unpleasant recollections. He turned from the window, and gave his
attention to the substantial breakfast to which his host invited him.
The greater part of that day was spent in rearranging the habitable
parts of Willow Creek, and placing the more delicate valuables further
out of danger. At night candles were lighted, fresh wood was heaped up
in the stove, and the lumber-room became comparatively comfortable.
"Will you play us a tune, Angus?" said Louis Lambert, drawing a stool
between Elsie and Cora and sitting down. "The ladies, you know, never
tire of your music."
"I hef not anything new," replied Angus, with becoming modesty; "but if
the leddies wass willin' to listen to some o' the old tunes, my fuddle
an' I will try what we can do."
"We love the old tunes best," said Cora.
As every one else echoed the sentiment, Angus, nothing loath, began to
discourse sweet sounds, which, to say truth, were indeed very sweet, and
mingled not inharmoniously with the sound of waters which gurgled gently
underneath.
Angus could play Scotch reels in a manner that made dancing almost
unavoidable, but he preferred slow, plaintive music, and on this
occasion indulged his taste to the full, so as to fling a mantle of
quiescence and pathos over the family circle.
Samuel Ravenshaw had retired to a darkish corner to enjoy his pipe, but
the music awoke sad memories. The lost Tony came vividly before him,
and beside his darling boy arose the dark form of the Red Man, whose
mode of taking his revenge had been to him so terrible, all the more
terrible that the nature of the old man was secretive in regard to
sorrow. His joys he was ever ready to share with every one, but his
griefs he smothered in his own breast, and scorned to let his
countenance betray his heart.
No one knew how much he suffered. Perhaps Elsie understood him best.
At all events she had become more earnest and thoughtful in her
attentions after that dark day when her little brother was spirited
away. Leaving Lambert to Cora, she went over to her father, sat down
beside him, and, laying her head upon his shoulder, listened with a sort
of melancholy pleasure to the sweet strains of the violin.
They were suddenly and rudely awakened from this state of quiescence by
a blinding flash of lightning, followed almost instantaneously by a
tremendous clap of thunder which sounded like colliding worlds overhead,
and then rolled away in deep mutterings of discontent. This was
repeated at short intervals, then the rain and hail came down in
torrents, and the wind rose so that soon the waves began to beat
violently on the house. The day which had begun so calmly ended in
furious storm--emblematic of many a day in every human life.
Seated there with feelings of awe and anxiety, the Ravenshaw household
passed the night in silence.
And still the waters of the Red River continued to rise--slowly, it is
true, and inch by inch instead of foot by foot--until these settlers in
the great wilderness began to think, with something akin to
superstitious fear, of that mighty deluge which had been sent to
submerge the world in the days of old.