THE FLOOD
The autumn afternoon was oppressively hot when Gordon, floundering
among the whitened driftwood piled along the river-bank, came upon
Nasmyth, who lay upon a slope of rock, with his hands, which were
badly bruised, clenched upon a drill. Another man, who stood upon a
plank inserted into a crevice, swung a hammer, and its ponderous head
came ringing down upon the drill, which Nasmyth jerked round at every
stroke, so many times to the minute, with rhythmic regularity. As
Nasmyth was apparently too busily engaged just then to trouble about
him, Gordon sat down on a big log, and taking out his pipe, looked
about him when he had lighted it.
The river had made a gap for itself in the great forest that filled
the valley, and the sombre firs that rose in serried ranks upon its
farther bank rolled back up the hillside, streaked here and there with
a little thin white mist. A mile or so away, and lower down the
valley, there was an opening in their shadowy masses, out of which
rose the ringing of hammers and a long trail of smoke, for workmen
from the cities were building the new wood-pulp mill there. In the
foreground the river swirled by, frothing at flood level, for a week's
fierce sunshine had succeeded a month of torrential rain, and the snow
high up on a distant peak was melting fast.
Nobody about the little settlement at the head of the deep inlet had
seen the water quite so high at that season, and Gordon noticed how it
frothed and boiled about the row of stone-backed piles that stretched
out from either bank. As he listened to the hoarse roar of the pent-up
torrent, he understood what that partly completed dam must have cost
Nasmyth. After a little time Nasmyth rose, and, stepping on the plank,
wearily straightened his back.
"We're down far enough," he announced. "Let me have the two sticks of
giant-powder, and then tell the boys to jump for cover."
The other man, who sprang down from his perch, handed him what
appeared to be two thick sticks of yellow wax, and Gordon watched him
as he carefully nipped a copper detonator down on a length of snaky
fuse, and embedded it in the plastic material. Then he cautiously
tamped the two yellow rolls down into the drilled-out hole. After that
he lighted the fuse, and, clambering down the slope of rock, saw
Gordon.
"We'll get out of this. It's a short fuse," he said.
Gordon, who was acquainted with the action of giant-powder, had no
desire to stay, and they floundered as fast as possible over the
driftwood and masses of shattered rock until Nasmyth drew his
companion behind a towering fir. Then there was a sharp detonation, a
crash, and a shower of flying stones went smashing through the forest
and into the river. One, which Gordon fancied must have weighed about
two hundred pounds, drove close past them, and struck a young cedar,
which snapped off beneath the impact. Then there was a sudden silence,
and Nasmyth stretched out his arms with a suggestive weariness before
he sat down and took out his pipe.
"No one could have expected that stone to come this way," he remarked,
with a little laugh. "It's an example of how contrary things can be.
In fact, they've been about as contrary as it's possible the last
month or so. As no doubt you have noticed, one very seldom gets much
encouragement when he takes the uphill trail. It's very rarely made
any easier for him."
Gordon grinned, though he realized that the trail his companion had
set out upon was very steep indeed. He had secured the dam-building
contract, which was not astonishing, since nobody else appeared
anxious to undertake it, and he had already acquired a certain
proficiency with the axe and drill. There is as yet very little
specialization in that land, which is in many respects fortunate for
those who live in it, and the small rancher cheerfully undertakes any
kind of primitive engineering that seems likely to provide him with a
few dollars, from building timber bridges to blasting waggon roads out
of the hardest rock. What is more, he usually makes a success of it.
In Nasmyth's case, however, the rise of water had made his task almost
insuperably difficult, and it had already left a certain mark on him.
Gordon, who was, after all, a doctor, naturally noticed this as he
watched him.
Nasmyth was very lean now, but he was also hard and muscular, and the
old blue shirt, which hung open at the neck, and torn duck trousers,
which clung about him still wet with river-water, accentuated the wiry
suppleness of his frame; but it was in his face that Gordon noticed
the greatest change. The good-humoured, tolerant indifference he
remembered had melted out of it, the lips seemed set more firmly, and
the eyes were resolute and keen. Nasmyth, so Gordon noticed, had grown
since he first took up his duties as Waynefleet's hired hand. Still,
though it was less apparent, the stamp of refinement and what Gordon
called, for want of a better term, "sensibility," clung to him, and it
seemed to the trained observer that the qualities it suggested might
yet handicap his comrade in a country where the struggle with
primitive forces chiefly demands from man an unreasoning animal
courage. In that land the small contractor and Bush-rancher must bear
the brunt on his body every day, toiling waist-deep in icy waters, or
gripping the drill with bleeding hands, while each fresh misfortune
that follows flood and frost is met with a further strain on weary
muscles and sterner resolution. It is a fight that is usually hardest
for the man who thinks, and in which the one thing that counts is the
brutal, bulldog valour that takes hold and holds on in spite of each
crushing blow.
"This high water," said Gordon, "has kept you back considerably."
"It has," Nasmyth replied with emphasis. "It has cost me more money
that I care to figure up the last month, and we're considerably
behind. The dam's still at the mercy of the next big flood."
"It's a little curious that you seem to stand it better than you did
the logging," said Gordon, with a quick glance at him.
Nasmyth appeared to consider this. "I do, and that's a fact. For one
thing, I'm fighting for my own hand, and no doubt that counts, though,
perhaps, it doesn't go quite far enough. After all, it's a point you
ought to know more about than I do."
His companion smiled. "I can describe the mechanical connection
between the thought in a man's brain and the movement of his muscles.
It's comparatively simple; but when you understand that, you're only
beginning. There's much more behind. To particularize, if you had done
what you're doing now when you were logging, it would, in all
probability, have broken you up again."
Nasmyth fancied that this was correct, though, as he had admitted, he
could give no reason for it. He was only conscious that he was being
constrained by some new influence, and, under the pressure it laid
upon him, he became almost insensible to physical weariness. He had
now a motive for fighting, in place of drifting, that no mere hired
hand can possess. His indolent content had been rudely dissipated, and
something that had lain dormant in the depths of his nature had come
uppermost. It was certainly Laura Waynefleet who had given it the
first impulse, but why he had permitted her to impose her will on him
was a matter that was still incomprehensible to him. Seeing that he
did not answer, Gordon changed the subject.
"Some of the boys and I have been wondering how you contrived to
finance the thing," he said.
Nasmyth smiled, though there was just a trace of darker colour in his
face. "Well," he replied, "one can get tolerably long credit from most
of the Bush stores, and Clipton has let me have provisions for the
boys on quite reasonable terms. Besides, as it happens, there is money
in the family. There was a time when one might have considered it
almost the duty of certain relatives of mine to give me a lift, but I
didn't offer them the opportunity. I came out here and set about
driving cows and chopping trees instead."
"You felt you'd sooner cut your hand off than give them a gentle
hint," remarked Gordon. "It's not an uncommon feeling, but, when you
give way to it, it clears the other people. Won't you go on?"
"When I undertook this affair, I laid the opportunity before them, and
one--the last I expected anything of that kind from--sent me out a
draft. He kindly pointed out that there appeared to be in me certain
capabilities, which he had never supposed I possessed, and added that,
if I ever really succeeded in building a dam or anything else useful,
he would be pleased to take a share in my next venture. In the
meanwhile, he would charge me interest on the amount of that draft.
Perhaps I may mention that the man in question was naturally the one
the rest of them rather looked down upon."
Gordon laughed. "Oh, yes," he said, "I like that, naturally. I guess
you would have taken their view of him once. Well, since you can put
your pride in your pocket, you're evidently growing. There's just one
way of putting anything through here, and that's to take hold and hang
right on, no matter what it costs. I guess there's one of the boys
wanting you."
A man stood knee-deep in the river waving his hand. Nasmyth rose and
stretched himself.
"They seem to want me all the time from sun-up until it's dark," he
said. "In one way it's a little curious, since there's reason to
believe that most of them know a good deal more about what we're doing
than I do myself. You'll excuse me."
Gordon smiled as his comrade strode away. He was one who had studied
human nature, and because he was well acquainted with the Bushman's
capabilities, he knew that there were also limitations to them. Even
in such matters as the splitting of hard rock and the driving of
massive piles into the river-bed, the higher intelligence of the man
of intellect had its effect. Gordon smoked his pipe out as he watched
Nasmyth flounder into the stream among the other men, pushing a little
car loaded with broken rock that apparently ran along a submerged
track. Then he strolled back toward the settlement.
Nasmyth toiled on in the river until the camp-cook hammered upon a
suspended iron sheet as a signal that supper was ready. The summons
was answered without delay. With the water running from their clothing
Nasmyth and his men went back to the little log shanty. One or two
changed their dripping garments, but the rest left their clothes to
dry upon them, as their employer did. When the plentiful, warm supper
had been eaten, Nasmyth went back to the little hut that served him as
store and sleeping quarters. A big, grizzled man from Mattawa,
Ontario, went in with him, and lounged upon the table while he sat in
his bunk, which was filled with fresh spruce twigs.
"I'm pretty well played out, and if I'm to work to-morrow, I've got to
sleep to-night," said Nasmyth.
The grizzled axeman nodded. "Well," he volunteered, "I'll stand watch.
I was in the last two nights, and I guess it's up to me to see you
through. We're going to have trouble, if one of those big logs fetches
up across the sluiceway. The river's full of them, and she's risen
'most a foot since sun-up."
Nasmyth held up one hand, and both heard the deep roar of frothing
water that came in with the smell of the firs through the open door.
The Bush was very still outside, and that hoarse, throbbing note flung
back by the rock slope and climbing pines filled the valley. Nasmyth
smiled grimly, for it was suggestive of the great forces against which
he had pitted his puny strength. Then there was a crash, and, a few
moments later, a curious thud, and both men listened, intent and
strung up, until the turmoil of the river rose alone again.
"A big log," said the older man. "She has gone through the run. Guess
we'll get one by-and-by long enough to jamb. Now, if you'd run out
those wing-frames I was stuck on, she'd have took them straight
through, every one."
"The trouble was that I hadn't the money, Mattawa," said Nasmyth
dryly.
His companion nodded, for this was a trouble he could understand.
"Well," he answered, "when you haven't got it you have to face the
consequences. I'll roust you out if a big log comes along."
Mattawa went out, and soon afterwards Nasmyth, whose clothes were now
partly dry, lay down, dressed as he was, in his twig-packed bunk, with
his pipe in his hand. It was growing a little colder, and a keen air,
which had in it the properties of an elixir, blew in, but that was a
thing Nasmyth scarcely noticed, and the dominant roar of the river
held his attention. He wondered again why he had been drawn into the
conflict with it, or, rather, why he had permitted Laura Waynefleet to
set him such a task, and the answer that it was because he desired to
hold her good opinion, and, as he had said, to do her credit, did not
seem to go far enough. It merely suggested the further question why he
should wish to keep her friendship. Still, there was no disguising the
fact that, once he had undertaken the thing, it had got hold of him,
and he felt he must go on until his task was successfully accomplished
or he was crushed and beaten. It seemed very likely, then, that utter
defeat would be his fate. While he pondered, the pipe fell from his
hand, and the river's turmoil rang in deep pulsations through his
dreams. He was awakened suddenly by a wet hand on his shoulder, and,
scrambling out of his bunk on the instant, he saw Mattawa with a
lantern in his hand.
"Log right across the sluice-run," said the watcher. "More coming
along behind it. They'll sure get piling up."
Nasmyth did not remember that he gave any directions when he sprang,
half asleep, out of the shanty. The roar of water had a different note
in it, and the clangour of the iron sheet one of the men was pounding
rang out harshly. A half-moon hung above the black pines, and
dimly-seen men were flitting like shadows toward the waterside. They
appeared to know what it was advisable to do, but they stopped just a
moment on the edge of the torrent, for which nobody could have blamed
them. The water, streaked with smears of froth and foam, swirled by,
and there was a tumultuous white seething where the flood boiled
across the log in the midst of the stream. The log blocked the gap
left open to let the driftwood through, and, as Nasmyth knew, great
trees torn up in distant valleys were coming down with the flood. It
seemed to him that he could not reasonably have expected to clear that
obstacle with a battalion of log-drivers, and he had only a handful of
weary men. Still the men went in, floundering knee-deep in the flood,
along the submerged pile of stone and clutching at the piles that
bound it to save themselves when the stream threatened to sweep their
feet from under them, until they came to the gap where the great tree,
rolling in the grip of the torrent, thrashed its grinding branches
against the stone.
Then, though it was difficult to see how a man of them found a
foothold, or kept it on the heaving trunk, the big axes flashed and
fell, while a few shadowy figures ran along the top of the log to
attack the massy butt across the opening. It would have been arduous
labour in daylight and at low-water, but these were men who had faced
the most that flood and frost could do. They set about their task in
the dark, for that land would have been a wilderness still if the men
in it had shown themselves unduly careful of either life or limb.
The great branches yielded beneath the glinting blades, and went on
down river again, but Nasmyth, who felt the axe-haft slip in his
greasy hands, did not try to lead. It was sufficient if he could keep
pace with the rest of the wood-choppers, which was, after all, a thing
most men, reared as he had been, would certainly not have done. The
lust of conflict was upon him that night, and, balancing himself
ankle-deep in water on the trunk that heaved and dipped beneath him,
he swung the trenchant steel. He felt that he was pitted against great
primeval forces, and, with the gorged veins rising on his forehead and
the perspiration dripping from him, man's primitive pride and passions
urged him to the struggle.
How long it was before they had stripped the tree to a bare log he did
not know, but twice, as they toiled on, he saw a man splash into the
river, and, rising in the eddy beneath the submerged dam, crawl,
dripping, out again, and at length he found himself beside Mattawa,
whirling his axe above a widening notch, and keeping rhythmic stroke.
He knew he was acquitting himself creditably then, for Mattawa had
swung the axe since he could lift it, and there are men, and
mechanics, too, who cannot learn to use it as the Bushmen do in a
lifetime; but he also knew that he could not keep pace with his
comrade very long. In the meanwhile, he held his aching muscles to
their task, and the gleaming blades whirled high above their shoulders
in the pale light of the moon. As each left the widening gap the other
came shearing down.
The other men were now plying peevie and handspike at the butt of the
log, and he and Mattawa toiled on alone, two dim and shadowy figures
in the midst of the flood, until at last there was a rending of
fibres, and Mattawa leapt clear.
"Jump!" he gasped. "She's going."
Nasmyth jumped. He went down in four or five feet of water, and had
the sense to stay there while the log drove over him. Then he came up,
and clutching it, held on while it swept downstream into a slacker
eddy. There were several other figures apparently clinging to the butt
of it, and when he saw them slip off into the river one by one, he let
go, too. He was swung out of the eddy into a white turmoil, which
hurled him against froth-lapped stones, but at length he found sure
footing, and crawled up the bank, which most of his companions had
reached before him. When the others came up, he found that he was
aching all over, and evidently was badly bruised. He stood still,
shivering a little, and blinked at them.
"You're all here?" he said. "Where are those axes?"
It appeared that most of them were in the river, which was not very
astonishing, for a man cannot reasonably be expected to swim through a
flood with a big axe in his hand, and when somebody said so, Nasmyth
made a little gesture of resignation.
"Well," he said, "the logs will just have to pile up, if another big
one comes along before the morning."
This was evident. They were all dead weary, and most of them were
badly bruised, as well, and they trooped back to the shanty, while
Nasmyth limped into his hut. Nasmyth sloughed off his dripping
garments, and was asleep in five minutes after he had crawled into his
bunk.