"Well, my friends, I shall now detail to you the strange incident, which
at once decided me to adopt the suggestion of my wife, and make our home
in the valley. Perhaps we did not, at the time, contemplate staying
here for the remainder of our lives--but only for a few years. However,
we resolved to remain for the present, and give our lonely life a fair
trial, leaving the future an open question.
"The reason why I had hesitated at all upon the subject was this:--I
could not think of settling down with no prospect of improving our
condition; for, however much we might exercise our industry, its
products could not enrich us beyond the satisfying of our own wants. We
should have no market, thought I, for any superfluous produce, even
could we cultivate the whole valley. We could, therefore, become no
richer, and would never be in any fitter state to return to civilised
society--for, in spite of all, a thought of this still remained in my
mind.
"Mary, who was of a far more contented disposition than I, still
persisted in arguing that as our happiness did not depend upon
possessing riches, we would never desire to leave that lovely spot, and
that, consequently, we should stand in no need of wealth.
"Perhaps hers was the true philosophy--at all events, it was the natural
one. But the artificial wants of society implant within us the desire
of accumulating individual property; and I could not rid myself of this
provident feeling. `If we could only find some object,' said I, `upon
which we might be exercising our industry, so that _our time should not
be wasted_, and by which we might prepare ourselves for returning to
society, then might we live most happily here.'
"`Who knows?' said Mary, in reply to this; `there may be objects in this
valley that may occupy us, and enable us to lay up the very store you
speak of, as well as if we were to continue on to New Mexico. What
opportunities should we have there better than here? We have nothing
now to begin life with anywhere. Here we have food and land, which I
think we may fairly call our own; there we should have neither. Here we
have a home; and how know you, Robert, that we may not yet make a
fortune in the Desert?'
"We both laughed at the idea; which, of course, Mary had meant only as a
jest in order to render our prospects more cheering.
"It was now near midnight, for we had sat up to that late hour
deliberating on what we should do. As I have said, we agreed to leave
the matter undecided until the morrow. The moon was just appearing over
the eastern cliff; and we were about rising to retire to our
resting-places, when our eyes fell upon an object that caused us all at
the same time to cry out with astonishment.
"I have said, that when we first entered this valley there was no lake
here. Where you now see one, was a green sward, with here and there a
coppice of trees, forming part of the little prairie in which we were
encamped. The stream ran across it, as it still does through the lake;
but at this point there were scarcely any banks, as the water flowed
over a wide and shallow channel. On previous nights, when the moon was
shining into the valley, as we sat around our camp fire, we had noticed
the stream winding like a silver thread through the dark-green herbage.
Now, to our extreme wonder, instead of the narrow line, a broad sheet of
water glistened before us! It seemed to cover a space of several
hundred yards in extent, reaching far up the glade towards our camp.
Could it be water, or was it only the _mirage_--the _fata morgana_? No;
it was not the latter. We had witnessed this before, on our passage
across the great plains. We had witnessed it on several occasions, and
it was nothing like what we now saw. There is a filmy, whitish
appearance about the illusions of the _mirage_ by which the experienced
traveller can always distinguish it from the real. But there was
nothing of that in the present instance. It was water that spread
before us,--for the moon, that had now risen above the cliff, was
plainly reflected upon its calm and glassy surface. Yes; it could be
nothing but a sheet of water!" But we were determined not to trust to
our eyes alone. We all ran towards it--Cudjo, the boys, and myself,--
and in a few seconds we stood upon its edge--upon the edge of what
appeared to be a large lake, formed as if by some magical influence!
"We had at first regarded the phenomenon only with feelings of wonder;
but our wonder was now changed to consternation, when we perceived that
the water was still rising! It ran in about our feet while we stood,
rippling slowly against the gentle ascent like the influx of a tide.
"`What could it mean?' we asked of each other, with looks that betrayed
our fears. Was it a flood--an inundation--a sudden swelling of the
stream? This it plainly was, but what could have caused it? There had
been no rain for several days before, and no great heat to have caused
any unusual melting of the snow upon the mountain. What, then, could be
the origin of this sudden and singular freshet? What could it mean?
"We stood for some time silent, with hearts beating audibly,--each
looking at the others for an answer to this question. The solution
seemed to strike us all at the same time, and a fearful one it was.
Some terrible convulsion--the falling of the precipice perhaps--had
dammed the canon below; no doubt, had blocked up the great fissure by
which the stream found its way from the valley. If such were the case,
then, the valley would soon fill with water, not only to cover the
ground occupied by our camp, _but the tops of the highest trees_!
"You will easily conceive the terror with which this thought was
calculated to inspire us. We could think of no other cause for the
strange inundation; nor, indeed, did we stay longer to consider of any,
but ran back to the camp, determined to escape from the valley as soon
as we could. Cudjo caught the horse, Mary awoke the children, and
brought them out of the wagon, while the boys and I busied ourselves in
collecting a few necessary things, that we might be enabled to carry
along with us.
"Up to this time we had not thought of the difficulty--much less the
_impossibility--of escaping from the valley_. To our horror, that now
became clear as the sun at noon-day; for we perceived that the road by
which we had entered the glade, and which lay along the stream, was
completely covered, and the rising water reached far beyond it! There
was no other path by which we could get out. To attempt cutting one
through the thick tangled woods would be the work of days; moreover, we
remembered that we had crossed the stream on the way to our camp, and
that, of course, would now be swollen below, so that to re-cross it
would be impossible. We had no doubt but that the valley, at its lower
end, was by this time filled with water, and our retreat in that
direction completely cut off! _We knew of no other path_!
"I cannot describe the state of mind into which we were thrown, when
these facts became evident to one and all of us. We were about to start
out from the camp, each of us carrying our burden; but it was plainly of
no use making the attempt, and we let fall the various utensils with a
feeling of despair. The water was still rising--_the lake was growing
larger_!
"The wolves howled, driven from their lair by the encroaching element--
birds, roused from their sleep, screamed and fluttered among the trees--
our dogs barked at the strange sight--and, in the clear moonlight, we
could see deer, and other wild animals, rushing, as if terrified,
through the open glade. O God! were we to be engulfed, and perish in
this mysterious flood?
"What was to be done? Should we climb into the trees? That would not
save us. If the great channel was blocked up below, I knew that _that_
would not save us; for its jaws were higher than the tops of the highest
trees, and the rising flood would soon wash us from the branches. It
might prolong our lives, and with them our despair; but what--`Ha!' The
thought, heaven-directed, at this moment entered my mind.
"`_A raft! a raft! we shall yet be saved_!'
"My companions at once understood my meaning. Cudjo seized the axe,
while Mary hastened to the wagon to collect such ropes and cords as were
in it. I knew there would not be enough of these for our purpose; and,
spreading out the great elk-skin, I proceeded to cut it into stripes.
"There were several logs lying close to our camp. They were the trunks
of tall straight trees, that, from time to time, had fallen, and were
now quite dead and dry. They were the trunks of the beautiful
_rhododendrons_, or tulip-trees, out of which the Indians always make
their canoes, when they can get them of sufficient size. This, because
their wood is extremely soft and light--weighing only twenty-six pounds
to the cubic foot. While busy myself, I directed Cudjo to cut a number
of these logs into equal lengths. Cudjo knew how to handle an axe with
any man; and the logs were soon of the proper dimensions. We now rolled
them together, and, by the aid of our ropes and cross pieces, lashed
them firmly to one another; and our raft was completed. Upon this we
placed our great chest containing the jerked meat, with our blankets,
and such utensils as were necessary to be saved. We laid in no stock of
water for the expected voyage--we had no fear about our having enough of
that.
"We had been occupied nearly two hours in constructing the raft; but
during all this time we had been so busy, that we had hardly looked in
the direction of the flood--only to see that it still continued to rise.
As soon as our arrangements were completed, I ran down to the water's
edge. After watching it for a few minutes, to my great joy I perceived
that _the flood was at a stand_! I shouted the glad news to my
companions, who, on hearing it, hastened to join me, and assure
themselves by actual observation. For half-an-hour, we all stood upon
the shore of the new-formed lake, until we became convinced that its
waters were rising no higher. We saw, too, that they did not subside,
but remained stationary. `It has reached the top of whatever has dammed
it,' thought we, `and is now flowing over.'
"`What a pity, Massa Roff,' said Cudjo, as we wended our way back to the
camp; `what a pity we make dat fine raff for nuffin!'
"`Ah, Cudjo,' rejoined my wife, `we should never regret having performed
that which is a work of precaution; and we must remember that the raft--
although it may not be required as we intended it--has already far more
than repaid us for the labour bestowed upon it. Remember the misery we
were suffering but a short time since, and from which the idea of this
raft at once relieved us. Measures of precaution, however irksome,
should always be adopted. It is only the slothful and vacillating who
either neglect or regret them.'
"`Dat's true, Missa--dat's berry true,' said Cudjo, in a serious tone,
for he well knew how to appreciate the teachings of his noble mistress.
"It was now very late, or rather very early, and Mary, with the
children, returned to their usual resting-place in the wagon. Cudjo and
I, fearing to trust to the capricious water, determined--lest it might
take another turn, and `catch us napping'--to keep watch on it till the
morning."