THE FRESHET.
The big snow-storm, which ushered in Thanksgiving day, lasted until
the fifteenth, when the weather cleared away biting cold. Then, on
the twenty-second, the cold abated, and a thaw set in, with peculiar
characteristics which have marked it in history as a season not to be
forgotten. It began to rain November twenty-fourth, and for twenty
days successively it kept unceasingly at it, but every evening the
stars would appear as bright as ever, and continue to shine until
past midnight. At daybreak the rain would again commence to fall as
furiously as ever.
With the ground frozen and a big body of snow, this warm rain brought
such a freshet as the oldest settler had never seen. The ice in the
Merrimack broke up and the swollen stream carried huge cakes on its
turgid current, to the danger of lives and property.[3]
[3] The snow melted and a freshet occurred in the Merrimack River,
nothing like it having been experienced there for seventy
years. At Haverhill, the stream rose fifteen feet, and many
houses were floated off.――_Perley’s Historic Storms of New
England._
At Cohas general alarm reigned, but at Namaske only one dwelling
was threatened, and that was the home of Robert MacDonald, which
unfortunately stood so low and near the bank of the stream that the
water came almost to the door. Still the occupants, finding at last
that it was rising no higher, hoped and believed that it would subside
before doing them harm.
Archibald Stark called one afternoon to see if there had been any
change since the previous day and very confidently told them he
believed the worst over.
Accordingly, the inmates retired that evening without dreaming of
further danger. But Norman had not fallen asleep, when a terrific roar
and rumbling, such as he had never heard in his life before, awoke the
night.
Springing off his couch, he had barely begun to dress himself before
another crash was heard, and then a sound like the thunder of Namaske,
increased tenfold in volume.
A loud rap at the door quickly followed, and a stentorian voice called
out:
“Quick! your lives are in peril!”
It was the Woodranger, and he showed his impatience by renewed thumping
against the log wall of the cabin.
The next moment Norman was down on the lower floor, and found Mr.
MacDonald already dressed, while Rilma appeared the following minute.
Norman had already opened the door, and the Woodranger came in as Rilma
appeared.
“The river has broken over its bank!” exclaimed the forester. “The ice
dammed the stream and――hark!――we must get out o’ this amazement if
we value our lives. Lassie, let me carry you. Lad, follow with your
grandfather. Let there be no delay.”
While speaking he caught the trembling Rilma in his strong arms, and
strode out of the door. Clasping his precious burden close to his
breast, the Woodranger swiftly passed the little valley lying between
the doomed dwelling and the higher land.
Norman would have kept beside him, but his grandfather, in his
excitement, stumbled and nearly fell, just as the rushing water seemed
upon them!
“Hurry, grandfather!” cried Norman, helping him to his feet. “The river
is making a channel around our home!”
“The horn!” exclaimed the dazed Highlander. “I maun hae the auld――”
Without stopping to hear more, Norman bounded into the house, seized
the horn, and an instant later was back beside his aged companion.
But that moment lost was fatal to his hopes. So swiftly had the river
risen and swept down on its new course, that the wall of water was in
plain sight as Norman regained the side of his grandfather.
Seizing him by the hand, and half dragging him along, he sped in the
direction the Woodranger had taken.
But Mr. MacDonald seemed bewildered, and he did not move with the
necessary haste. Midway across the narrow valley Norman saw that it was
hopeless to think of escaping, though he pulled harder than ever upon
his aged companion in the endeavour to get him beyond the reach of the
rushing stream. Alone he might have escaped.
The Woodranger, who had borne Rilma to a place of safety, gently put
her down and sprang back to lend his assistance to the others. Seeing
their peril, he would have rushed in to save them at the risk of his
own life, but he was too late.
Sweeping everything in its pathway, the watery column reached the
hapless pair. Fortunately for Mr. MacDonald, the current struck him
in such a way that he was tossed toward the high ground, and dropped
almost at the feet of the Woodranger, who quickly caught hold of him
and dragged him away from the surging flood. Then he turned to look for
Norman.
At that moment Mr. Stark, his boys, and half a dozen others appeared
on the scene, having come to warn his friends of the peril threatening
their home.
Norman was caught by the swirling waters and borne away at a fearful
speed. He tried to save himself, but a cake of ice struck him on the
head, and that was the last he knew until he lay in the arms of the
Woodranger and the words of Mr. Stark came into his ears:
“Mark how he loves the boy.”
Opening his eyes, our hero looked around in a bewildered way, a wild,
strange roar of rushing water ringing in his ears. He saw about him a
little knot of anxious watchers, the nearest of them the forester, upon
his knees, bending over him.
“Father, I thank thee, thou hast seen it well to spare him. Lad, speak,
and tell me that my ol’ eyes do not deceive me. Thy life has been
spared.”
“I think I must be living, Woodranger,” replied Norman, “but it does
seem queer. Perhaps my mind is not clear yet. Where are Rilma and
grandfather?”
“Safe, lad. At least the lassie is safe and well cared for. Your
grandfather did get a serious amazement. It may have been a chunk o’
ice struck him, but he has been taken with the lassie to the home o’
Mr. Stark.”
“Where the boy must be taken without further delay,” said that
kind-hearted man. “Let me help you lift him on my sled, Woodranger.”
Mr. Stark was the owner of a big hand-sled, which had been covered with
warm fur robes. Norman was placed upon the sled, and willing hands drew
him to the hospitable home, where the party was met by Mrs. Stark.
He was then put on a comfortable bed, a warming-pan placed at his feet,
some herbs put as hot as he could bear to his head, and that was the
last he knew until morning.
Norman awoke feeling very much improved, and under the motherly care
of Mrs. Stark he soon declared that he wanted to sit up. But that she
would not allow.
“I promised Woodranger he should be called as soon as you awoke. He
seems as uneasy as a fish out of water. Here he comes now.”