AT THE MERCY OF THE FLOOD
IN that moment of alarm Sandy forgot all about his lame ankle. He
realized, as soon as the crash came, that the dugout was about to sink,
for water began to pour in over the side. So he obeyed the cry of his
brother, and made a spring for the safety of the log that had done the
damage.
[Illustration: "MADE A SPRING FOR THE SAFETY OF THE LOG THAT HAD DONE
THE DAMAGE."]
How he managed to scramble on it he could never afterwards explain;
but, when he had done so, and looked around, it was to discover Bob
sitting astride the rolling log, close by, and the half-sunken boat
just vanishing from sight in the gathering gloom.
"How is it, Sandy; are you all right?" anxiously asked Bob.
"I'm on the log, if that is what you mean," gasped the younger boy,
noticing, however, that their strange craft began to roll less, now
that they had settled down upon its broad back.
"And I hope you held on to your gun?" Bob went on; for even in that
terrible moment he could remember such a thing. This was hardly to be
wondered at, because it had taken both of the boys many a long month's
work with their first traps, away off in Virginia, to gather together
enough money to purchase the flint-lock muskets they owned, and which
had always served their purpose well. To lose one meant another
expenditure of hard-earned shillings, and even pounds.
"I have it here, safe and sound," replied Sandy, not without a touch
of pride in his voice; for to have managed to get aboard that rolling
log in such a hurry, and to keep a grasp upon the long musket, was no
trifling task.
"That was a close shave," said the elder brother, with a long-drawn
sigh; since he had been terribly alarmed for the moment, more on
account of Sandy than for himself.
"We never had a more exciting time," admitted his brother, frankly.
"And we have much to be thankful for," continued Bob.
"For this old floating log, you mean?" observed Sandy, not without a
touch of sarcasm in his voice.
"Yes, because even an old log may turn out to be a pretty good friend,"
Bob went on, positively. "I've heard father declare that a sailor is
thankful for any port in a storm; and, only for this log, we might have
been swimming our level best right now, brother, to keep our heads
above water."
"That may be," answered Sandy, still unconvinced; "but you forget
that, only for this same log, we would have been safe and sound in our
dugout, and paddling as nice as anything for the bank. As it is, we've
lost our boat, paddle and all, as well as the fox and mink; and will
have to borrow Alexander Hodgson's craft until we can build another."
"Let us shout as loud as we can," proposed Bob. "Perhaps some of the
settlers will hear us, if they are down near the edge of the river,
watching how fast it keeps on rising."
Accordingly both lads sent out sturdy calls at the top of their voices;
but there came back no answering, reassuring shout. Only the murmur of
the flood could be heard, or it might be a grinding noise as the log
came in contact with other floating stuff.
So finally the boys, as if by mutual consent, gave up hallooing.
For a little time they sat there in silence, both looking uneasily
toward the shore which marked the connecting link between themselves
and their home, though it could only be faintly seen, where the
tree-crowned hills stood out against the dull, darkening heavens.
Bob suddenly aroused himself. This was no time for vain regrets. They
must be up and doing, if they hoped to cope with the new and strange
situation into which a freak of fortune had so suddenly thrust them.
"We must try to do something to get ashore, Sandy," he said, firmly.
"I was just thinking that way, myself," admitted the other; "but, since
we have no paddles, and this log chooses to remain out here in the
middle of the river, I'm bothered to know how it can be done."
As usual, Sandy was depending part upon his brother to suggest some
way out of their difficulty; not that he did not possess a bright mind
himself, but when it came to quick thinking, and the suggesting of a
reasonable plan, Bob was always to be relied on.
"Paddles would do us little good just now, I fear," said Bob. "We are
both of us good swimmers, and might be able to make the shore; but
the water is very cold, and there would be danger of a cramp catching
one of us. For that reason I don't like the idea of deserting this
friendly log. We are at least safe as long as we have it to cling to."
"But, Bob, what if we keep on floating all night? We will be chilled
to the marrow with this cold wind, and the rain that promises to fall.
Besides, when the dawn breaks, we will find ourselves many miles down
the river. And what would mother think?"
"Well, I've got a plan in my mind that might help us," the other went
on. "We don't want to lose our guns, to begin with; and, once we took
to the water in that way, how could we hold on to them? So here's what
I was thinking. Let us fasten the guns, and our clothes, as far as we
can, to this log. I always carry some buckskin thongs in the pocket of
my tunic, and there are knobs here and there, where branches have been
broken off."
Sandy broke out laughing.
"But, what good would that do us?" he demanded. "If ever we did get
ashore, think how cold we should be, and likely to starve to death. I
think I'd rather take my chances sitting right here, than try that."
"But you don't understand the whole of the plan yet, Sandy," the other
went on, steadily, for he was quite used to having his impatient
brother break in upon him in this way.
"Oh! if there is more of it, I'm glad to hear it," Sandy remarked.
"After we've tied our guns, and part of our clothes, to the log, what
do we expect to do then, Bob--fly away to the shore away over yonder?
We might,--if only we had wings!"
"Listen, then," Bob pursued. "We'll slip down into the water, and, one
on either side of the log, start steering it in the direction of land.
Do you understand now, brother?"
Sandy gave a shout, for he was always enthusiastic, once he discovered
any reason for being so.
"It is a great idea, Bob," he said, warmly. "And I never would have
thought it out in an hour. Just as you say, we can, by slow stages,
push the log ashore. Even if it is miles below the settlement, we will
have our clothes with us, and tinder bags to start a fire with. But
why, do you think, did no one answer our shouts back there?"
"In the first place," replied Bob, who was beginning to fumble around,
in a hunt for the best nubbin of a broken branch, to which he might
secure his valuables, consisting of his precious musket, powder horn,
bullet pouch, tinder bag, and last, if not least of all, his clothes,
which the loving fingers of their mother had fashioned out of pliable
deerskin; "in the first place, we must have been some distance below
the settlement at the time of our accident."
"Yes," added Sandy, at once, seeing how reasonable this sounded, "I
think you are right about that, Bob."
"And," continued the other, "even if they had guessed that the cries
came from down the river, what could they have done to help us? There
is no better boat than the one we owned; and, with night at hand, and
the sky as black as it is now, the women would not have let the men
venture out upon the water. They are always in mortal fear lest the
wily Indians lay some plan for the undoing of our settlement, and begin
with luring some of its defenders away."
Sandy, too, was beginning to secure some of his things to the novel
craft which a strange decree of fate had made them accept as a means of
riding the flood in safety. When he had received the several buckskin
thongs which his brother passed over to him, the task of securing the
gun to the two knobs he had selected was first of all begun, because
with that in his hands he could accomplish little.
But Sandy, dearly loved to talk. It was indeed hard to keep him quiet,
for he was always either seeking information from another, or else
desirous of imparting his own views upon various subjects.
So, even as he worked, he must needs start afresh.
"How far do you believe we will be from home when we get to land?" was
what he first of all asked his brother, just as though the other was a
knowledge box upon which he could draw at will.
"That would be hard to say," replied Bob. "It all depends on how long
we are in landing. This flood must be going anywhere from six to seven
miles an hour; and, even if we are lucky, we would find ourselves
perhaps ten miles below our home."
"That would be further than we have ever wandered down the river,"
remarked Sandy, for their trapping and hunting had all been done within
the immediate vicinity of the settlement, since game could often be
found inside of ten minutes' walk.
Once only had the brothers been tempted to take a long journey. This
was when their sister Kate, at a time when their father had gone in
Virginia on urgent business, had been carried off by a young chief of
the Delawares; and a pursuit was undertaken by the brothers that led
them to the far distant great lakes.[5]
"Well, if we can make the bank in safety, I, for one, will not complain
of the distance," declared Bob. "How is your gun fixed now; are you
sure that it will hold safe, even if we should knock up against another
log?"
"Yes, it is fast to the tree trunk, and can never slip loose," returned
Sandy. "The more I think of this plan of yours, the better I like it,
Bob. Once we are in the water, and swimming, we can urge the log toward
the shore, a foot at a time, it may be, but with a constant pressure,
until at last we find that we can touch bottom. Then for a fire, and
warming up, for I fear by that time both of us will be chilled to the
bone."
"And if your lame ankle is so bad that it prevents our getting back
to-night, why, Sandy, what should hinder us from making camp in the
forest, under some ledge, where we can keep out of the rain? Then,
when morning comes, we can follow up the river until we reach our home
again."
"It makes me feel better to hear you talk like that, Bob," declared the
younger of the two. "I wonder what I would have done without you?"
"Perhaps just what we mean to do right now," Bob went on to say. "The
trouble is, Sandy, you will not think for yourself, when you have me to
depend on. You must remember what father told you once, that every tub
ought to stand on its own bottom. But Simon Kenton tells me he was just
such a youngster, until he found himself thrown on his own resources.
It was the making of him, he declares; because such things are apt to
bring out all there is in a boy."
Both of them were still diligently working to secure their possessions
safely to the friendly trunk, which, having been the means of their
disaster, now seemed willing to make reparation as best it could by
offering them an asylum for those things which otherwise must have gone
into the river with them.
It had, by now, grown so dark that all they could see was a stretch
of about thirty feet or so of surging water on either side of them.
Ahead, a similar unending panorama opened up, and, had they chosen to
turn their heads in order to cast a backward glance, they would have
looked upon the same dismal spectacle.
"There," said Sandy at last, "that job is done, and I'm ready to pull
off my tunic, hunting shirt, and coonskin cap, which I'll make up into
a bundle, and fasten with this last long thong. But, Bob, before we do
that, and go overboard, it seems to me we ought to give a last shout
for help. There is about one chance in a thousand that some person in a
boat may hear us."
"We'll take that chance, then, Sandy," echoed Bob. "So, ready now, and
shout when I do, with all your might!"
Again did their lusty young voices ring out over the flood. Once,
twice, thrice they gave tongue, and then, pausing, listened to see if
by chance there came any welcome reply. Immediately Sandy gave a low
bubbling cry of satisfaction.
"Did you hear that?" he demanded. "Some one certainly answered us;
unless it was an echo from the hills away off yonder."
"It was no echo, Sandy," replied Bob. "Shout again, and louder than
before. There is hope of a rescue even now. That one chance looks
better! Now, let go!"
This time the answering hail seemed somewhat closer, as though they
were sweeping down toward the spot where the unknown must be sitting in
his boat, holding it to some degree against the rushing current.
Sandy became wild with excitement. He had almost despaired of
assistance coming to them before, and, now that this sudden chance
loomed up, the horizon seemed to brighten visibly.
"Oh! I can hear the sound of paddles, Bob!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, that is what I was just listening to," answered the other, and
Sandy was surprised to note a lack of the same enthusiasm about Bob
that reigned in his own heart.
"What ails you?" he demanded. "We are in a fair way of being taken
safely ashore, and yet you do not seem to be happy. Is there anything
wrong, do you think, about that answer to our shouts? Surely it could
not be an echo, for by now we can make out the dip of paddles plainly.
Tell me what worries you?"
"That is just it," replied Bob, soberly; "the dip of the paddles,
as you say, which tells us that others are on the flood as well as
ourselves. But I have never heard a white man handle a paddle just like
that, and there are many who have tried it all their lives."
Sandy asked no more questions. Doubtless, if his face could have been
seen just then, it would be found to have taken on a sudden pallor, as
he muttered to himself the one significant word:
"Indians!"
FOOTNOTE:
[5] See "The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes."