III.

The winter came--we did not feel the cold so much as we expected--it

passed on and spring approached. We were looking forward to the

pleasures of summer and to a buffalo hunt which we had promised

ourselves, when, after finding the heat unusually great at night, on

rising in the morning, loud cracks in the ice were heard, and we

discovered that a thaw had commenced. We were surprised at the rapidity

with which the snow melted, and the low shrubs and the green grass

appeared, and long dormant Nature seemed to be waking up to life.

"How jolly," exclaimed Malcolm; "we shall soon be able to paddle about

in our canoe; we may as well have look at her to see that she is in

order."

We had a supply of gum with which to cover up the seams as the Indians

do, and our canoe was soon fit for launching.

"We must look to the plough and our spades," remarked our father; "we

shall speedily be able to get in our seeds."

Perhaps Sam Dawes thought more of his fishing lines and nets and guns.

The next day an Indian coming up from the lake told us that there was an

extraordinary accumulation of ice at the mouth of the river, which had

begun to swell, with an impetuous torrent, carrying vast masses along

with it. Speedily it rose higher and higher, the waters came up the

bank and then filled the narrow gully which usually discharged water

into it after rain, but now carried its waters backward into the plain.

"It will soon subside," observed our father. "That current will soon

carry away the barriers at the month." So we all went as usual to bed.

The next morning when we looked out we were on an island. The water

covered our field and the greater part of the garden round the house.

Between us and the house of the nearest settler to the south was one

sheet of water, while to the north not an habitation was visible. We

made out at the distance of a mile our neighbour and his family crossing

in a large boat to the hills on the east. "We may possibly have to

follow his example," observed our father; "but I hope that the waters

may decrease before that becomes necessary."

The sheep and cows were now collecting of their own accord in the

garden, and we had to drive up the pigs, whose stye was threatened with

submersion. The scene was truly one of desolation as we looked beyond

our own homestead; trunks of trees and palings, and now and then a

haystack, and barns, and parts of houses, and occasionally whole

dwellings came floating by, showing what ravages the flood must have

committed above us. Malcolm and I agreed that it was fortunate we had

repaired our canoe. As the waters extended, the current in the river

was less strong. Our father observed this. "My sons," he said,

"freight your canoe with the tent and some provisions, and take this

case of books, and go off to the hills. Should the waters increase

return for Sam and me; we must remain to look after the cattle. Mounted

on our horses we shall be able to drive them to yonder rising ground on

the south-west."

He pointed to a slight elevation, between which and us he considered

that the water was not more than one foot and a-half deep. Accustomed

to obey without question, Malcolm and I, having loaded our canoe with as

many valuables as she could possibly carry, prepared to cross to the

eastern hills, hoping that our father and Sam would start at once with

the cattle towards the more remote but seemingly more accessible ground

to the west. Just as we were shoving off he remarked--

"The water has not risen lately; we may still avoid a remove. Heaven

prosper you, my dear boys."

We hoped that his words would prove true--the sky was bright, the water

smooth, and it was difficult to believe that there was any danger.

Malcolm and I were expert with the use of the paddle, but in crossing

the river we were swept down some way, and narrowly escaped staving in

the canoe against stumps of trees or palings and remnants of buildings.

We persevered, however, and at length reached the eastern hills, or the

mountains as they were called. Here we found our neighbour and several

other families encamped. He told us that he had driven his cattle off

on the first day, and wished that we had done the same. The waters did

not appear to be rising, though we looked with anxiety towards our home;

but it was too small a speck to be visible among the wide expanse of

waters at the distance we were from it. We had put up our tent and were

intending to occupy it, when we recollected that there were several of

the other settlers' wives and daughters without so good a covering, so

we went and begged them to occupy it, while we slept under our canoe.

The night was bright and starlight, but we could not sleep much for

thinking of our father and Sam Dawes. We resolved as early as we could

see in the morning to go back to them. We were awoke early in the

morning by a peculiar murmuring and hollow sound. As soon as it was

daylight we looked out over the flooded country. We asked others if

they had heard the noise. They replied that they had, and that it was

caused by the water rushing over the land. "Then the flood must have

increased," exclaimed Malcolm and I with anxiety.

"No doubt about it, boys," was the unsatisfactory reply.

We were for starting off immediately, but one of the farmer's wives, to

whom we had given up our tent, insisted on preparing some breakfast for

us, and in putting a supply of food into our canoe.

"It is a long voyage, my boys, and you do not know what you may require

before you return," she observed.

We paddled on very anxiously. We had only the line of eastern hills we

were leaving and some high land to the south to guide us, but we thought

that we could not help hitting upon the spot where our abode stood. For

a long way we paddled on easily enough, only taking care not to run

against stumps of trees, and as we got nearer the settlement, stakes or

ruined buildings were our chief danger. Too many evidences met us on

either side that the water had increased considerably since the previous

day. In vain our eyes ranged around, in no direction was our cottage

visible. We must have mistaken the locality. The current was here very

strong, we thought that we might have drifted down further than we had

calculated on doing. We went further west, and then steered south,

where the current was less strong. After going some way, Malcolm

stopped paddling suddenly, and exclaimed--

"Look, Harry! look there! Do you know that tree?"

"Its head is very like one that grows close to the house," I answered.

We had both mechanically turned the head of the canoe in the direction

in which he pointed. We had been engaged in fastening a flag-staff to

the tree near our house. A minute would decide whether this was it.

Our hearts sank within us, our paddles almost dropped from our hands,

when we perceived among the bare branches the rope and the pole which we

had been about to erect. Where was our cottage? where our kind father

and the faithful Sam? Not a vestige of the cottage remained, it had too

evidently been carried away by the flood.

"Had they been able to escape with the cattle?" was the question we

asked each other. We hoped they might; but still it was too possible

that our father would have persisted in remaining in the house, as a

sailor will by his ship, to the last, and Sam, we knew, would never have

deserted him. We could just distinguish the heads of some strong

palings above the water, marking the position of our cottage. We made

fast to the tree for a few minutes to rest and recover ourselves, and to

consider what course to pursue. We naturally turned our eyes towards

the rising ground in the south-west, to which our father intended to

drive the cattle. It seemed a long, long way off, still we determined

to attempt to reach it. We felt thankful that the farmer's wife had

supplied us with provisions, though we were too anxious just then to be

hungry. We left the tree and paddled on, but it was very hard work, for

there was a current against us setting towards Lake Winnipeg; but the

canoe was light, and as there was no wind we managed to stem it.

Hitherto the sky had been bright, and there had been a perfect calm, but

as we paddled on we saw clouds rising above the high ground for which we

were steering. They rose, and rose, and then rushed across the sky with

fearful rapidity, and the water ahead of us, hitherto bright and clear,

seemed turned into a mass of foam, which came sweeping up towards us.

"We cannot face it," exclaimed Malcolm. "Quick, quick, about with the

canoe, we must run before it."

We were hardly in time. The blast very nearly upset the canoe, and we

had to throw our whole weight over on the side the wind struck her, to

prevent this, as she spun round like a top, and away we flew before it.

All we could do was to keep the canoe before the wind, and to steer her

clear of logs of wood or stumps of trees, against which she might have

been cast and knocked to pieces.

"But where are we going?" we asked ourselves. "If we continue thus, we

may be driven into Lake Winnipeg, and hurled among the masses of ice

which are dashing about on its waters."

We thought still more about our father and Sam. How disappointed they

would be, should they have reached the dry land when the storm came on,

and they knew that we could not get to them. But our attention, I must

own, was soon concentrated on our own situation. The rain fell in

torrents, sufficient of itself almost to swamp our light canoe, while

the thunder roared and the lightning darted from the sky, filling my

heart, at all events, with terror. I felt both awe-struck and alarmed,

and could scarcely recover myself sufficiently to help Malcolm. He was

far less moved, and continued guiding the canoe with his former

calmness. At last I could not help crying out--

"Oh, Malcolm, how is it that you cannot see our danger?"

"I do, Harry, clearly," he answered gravely; "but we are in the

performance of our duty, and God will take care of us."

His words and tone made an impression on me which I have never

forgotten. When dangers have surrounded me, I have asked myself, "Am I

engaged in the performance of my duty? then why need I fear, God will

protect me. He always has protected me." The grandest receipt for

enabling a person to be truly brave, is that he must ever walk on in the

strict line of duty.

We were driving northward at a fearful rate, for the rapidity of the

current was greatly increased by the wind. We wished that we could get

back to our oak tree, as we might make fast to its branches, but it was

nowhere visible. To have paddled against the gale would have only

exhausted our strength to no purpose. As Malcolm found that he could

guide the canoe without me, he told me to bail out the water. As I

turned round to do so, I shouted with joy, for I thought I saw a large

boat under full sail coming down towards us. On it came, much faster

than we were driving; but as it drew near, it looked less and less like

a boat, till to my bitter disappointment I discovered that it was a

large haystack which had been floated bodily away. At length just

before us appeared a clump of trees, and we, hoped that the ground on

which they stood might be out of water. Malcolm steered towards the

spot. We might remain there till the storm was over. The trees bent

with the wind, and it appeared as if they could not possibly stand. We

approached the spot perhaps with less caution than we had before

employed. Suddenly the canoe spun round, a large rent appeared in her

bows, over she went, and we were thrown struggling into the water.

Before we could regain the canoe she had floated far away, and not

without a severe struggle did we succeed in reaching the land. We

climbed up by some bushes, and found ourselves on the summit of a little

knoll rising out of the water, and not comprising more than fifty square

yards. Our first impulse was to look out to see what had become of our

canoe, and we stood watching it with a bewildered gaze as it floated

away half filled with water. It was not till it had disappeared in the

distance that we remembered it had contained all our provisions. That

was bad enough, but we had never experienced hunger, and did not know

how long we might exist without food. What appeared then worse was,

that the waters were rising round our island, and we might soon have no

dry spot on which to rest our feet. We might climb up into the trees,

but we had seen other trees washed away, and such might be the fate of

these our last refuge. The day wore on, the storm ceased, and the

weather again became calm and beautiful. I now grew excessively hungry,

and cried very much, and felt more wretched than I had ever done before.

Malcolm, who bore up wonderfully, tried to comfort me, and suggested

that we should hunt about foe roots or underground nuts such as we had

seen the Indians eat. We fortunately had our pocket knives, and with

these we dug in all directions, till we came upon some roots which

looked tempting, but then we remembered that we had no means of kindling

a fire to cook them, nor could we tell whether they were poisonous or

not. The hunt had given us occupation, and prevented us for a time from

dwelling on our misfortunes.

We then tried every device we could think of to kindle a fire, for we

wished to dry our clothes, if we could not cook our roots. None of our

attempts succeeded, and Malcolm suggested that we should run round and

round our island to try and warm ourselves before night came on. At

last I felt very sleepy, and so did Malcolm, but he said that he would

let me sleep first while he watched, lest the waters should rise and

carry us away before we had time to climb up a tree.

I lay down and was asleep in a minute, and when I awoke the stars were

shining out brightly through the branches of the trees, the young grass

blades reflecting them on their shining surfaces, while I saw my good

brother still walking up and down keeping guard over me. The noise of

the rushing waters sounded in my ears and made me desire to go to sleep

again, but I aroused myself, ashamed that I had slept so long, and urged

my brother to lie down.

"No, Harry," he answered, "I wished you to get as much rest as possible;

but look there, we shall soon be obliged to climb a tree for refuge."

Walking a few paces, I found that the water had greatly encroached on

our island; a southerly wind had begun to blow, which sent large waves

rolling in on us.

"Should the wind increase, they will completely sweep over where we

stand," I exclaimed. "Oh, Malcolm, what shall we do?"

"Trust in God," he replied calmly. "From how many dangers has He not

already preserved us. But remember, our father has often told us that

it is our business while praying to God for help, to exert ourselves,

and so let us at once try and find a tree we can climb quickly in case

of necessity, and whose boughs will afford us a resting-place."

I loved Malcolm dearly. I admired him now more than ever, and was ready

to do whatever he wished. We soon found a tree up which we could help

each other. The wind howled and whistled through the trees, the waves

lashed the shore furiously, and Malcolm had just time to shove me up the

tree, when one larger than the rest swept completely over the ground on

which we had been standing, with a force sufficient to have carried us

off with it. We had seated ourselves among the branches, which waved to

and fro in the wind, and as we looked down, we saw the water foaming

round the trunk, and often it seemed as if it must be uprooted and sent

drifting down with the current.

Malcolm said that he felt very sleepy, and told me that if I would

undertake to hold him on, he would rest for a few minutes. I gladly

promised that I would do as he wished, but asked him how he could think

of sleeping while the tempest was raging round us.

"Why, Harry, we are as safe up here as on the ground," he answered, in

his usual sweet tone of voice, "God is still watching over us!"

I need scarcely say how tightly I held on to his clothes, trembling lest

he should fall. I felt no inclination to go to sleep, indeed I soon

found that I must have slept the greater part of the night, for before

Malcolm again opened his eyes, I observed the bright streaks of dawn

appearing over the distant hills in the east. Daylight quickly came on.

It was again perfectly calm, and on looking down, we could see the

blades of grass rising above the water. Malcolm woke up, saying that he

felt much better. Looking down below us, he said that he thought the

water had decreased since he went to sleep. He might have been right, I

could not tell. At that moment there was only one thing I thought of,

the pain I was suffering from hunger. "I shall die! I shall die!" I

exclaimed. Malcolm cheered me up.

"Help will come though we cannot now see how," he observed; "God will

protect us. Trust in Him."

Still I felt that I should die. It is very difficult to sustain gnawing

hunger, such as I then felt for the first time. I have no doubt that

Malcolm felt the same, but he was too brave to show it. Hour after hour

passed by; the water did not appear to be rising; the blades of grass

were still seen below us round the tree. I however felt that I could

not endure many more hours of suffering. "I must fall, indeed I must,"

I cried out over and over again. I should indeed have let go my hold,

had not my brave brother kept me up. Even he at last showed signs of

giving way, and spoke less encouragingly than before. He was silent for

some time. I saw him looking out eagerly, when he exclaimed--

"Cheer up, Harry, there is a canoe approaching; it will bring us help."

I gazed in the direction towards which he pointed. At first I could

only see a speck on the water. It grew larger and more distinct, till I

could see that it was certainly a canoe. Then we discovered that there

were two Indians in it. We shouted, but our voices sounded shrill and

weak. The Indians heard us, for they waved their paddles and turned the

head of the canoe towards the clump of trees. The canoe could not get

under the tree, but one of the Indians jumped out, and Malcolm told me

to slide down. The Indian caught me and carried me in his arms to the

canoe, for I was too weak to walk. Malcolm followed, and the Indian

helped him along also. It was not till we had been placed in the canoe

that we recognised in our preserver the young Indian, Sigenok, whose

life we had saved. We pronounced his name. He gave a well-satisfied

smile.

"Ah, you have not forgotten me, nor I you," he said in his own language.

"Favours conferred bind generous hearts together. Sigenok guessed that

you were in distress. Your elder brother has long been looking for

you."

It appeared that Sigenok had been at a distance hunting when the flood

commenced; that he had hastened back, and soon perceiving from the

height the water had attained that our house was in danger, had embarked

in his canoe and hastened toward it, but on his nearing the spot found

that it had been swept away. Guessing that we had escaped to the

eastern hills, he paddled there, when our friends told him that we had

proceeded in search of our father and servant. Having ascertained the

exact time of our departure, with the wonderful powers of calculation

possessed by Red men, he had decided the events which had occurred and

the course we had pursued, and was thus able to look for us in the right

direction. Had he not found us there, he would have visited other

places which he mentioned, where we might have taken refuge. As he was

leaving the hills the farmer's wife had given him a supply of food for

us, and on his producing it our hunger was soon satisfied. We now told

him of our anxiety about our father and Sam Dawes. He listened

attentively, and then shook his head.

"They and the cattle never reached the hills," he observed. "We will

search for them. There are still some hours of daylight. If the house

has held together, they will be found much further down than this."

I fancied by the Indian's manner that his hopes were slight. We now

shoved off from the little island which had afforded us so valuable a

refuge, and Sigenok and his companion paddled off at a rapid rate to the

north. Anxious as I was, I soon fell asleep, and so I believe did

Malcolm for a short time. I was aroused by a shout from Sigenok. I

lifted up my head and saw a dark object in the distance rising above the

water.

"It is our house!" exclaimed Malcolm, "Sigenok says so. Oh, that our

father may be there!"

We kept our eyes anxiously fixed on the distant object. It was growing

dusk. Malcolm said that he saw something moving on it.

"Man there, alive!" observed Sigenok.

Our hopes were raised; but he spoke only of one man. How long the time

appeared occupied in reaching the spot! Even through the gloom we could

now distinguish the outline of our log hut, which had grounded on a bank

among some strong fences and brushwood, and was now fixed securely,

partly tilted over.

"Who is there? who is there?" we shouted. "Father, father! we are

Malcolm and Harry!"

"Woe's me, young masters, your father is not here," said a voice which,

hollow and husky as it was, we recognised as that of Sam Dawes. We were

soon up to our hut, to the roof of which Sam was clinging. The Indians

lifted him into the canoe, for he had scarcely strength to help himself.

"But our father, Sam! our father!" we exclaimed. "Where is he? what has

happened?"

"He no speak till he eat," observed Sigenok, after he had secured the

canoe to the hut.

We took the hint, and gave him some food. In a short time he revived,

and told us that our father, after we went away, would not believe that

the water would rise higher, and that they had retired to rest as usual,

when they were awoken by the sound of the water rushing round the house;

that they both ran out and mounted their horses to drive off the cattle,

as had been arranged. Our father took the lead, urging on before him

the cows and horses, while he followed with the sheep, when his horse

fell and he was thrown into a deep hole. As he scrambled out, the

current took him off his legs. He was nearly drowned, but after

floundering about for some time, he found himself carried up against the

hut. He immediately climbed to the roof and shouted as loud as he could

in the hopes of recalling our father, but there was no answer. Again

and again he shouted. He tried to pierce the gloom which still hung

over the land, though it was nearly morning. He felt a wish to leap off

and try and follow his master, but what had become of his horse he could

not ascertain. The waters were increasing round the cottage. He felt

it shake violently, when, to his horror, it lifted and floated bodily

away. The logs had been put together in a peculiar manner, dove-tailed

into each other, which accounted for this. He told us how forlorn and

miserable he felt, without another human being in sight, believing that

his master was lost, uncertain as to our fate, and that he himself was

hurrying to destruction. More than once he felt inclined to drop off

the roof, but love of life, or rather a sense of the wickedness of so

doing, prevailed, and he clung on till the hut grounded where we found

it.

We were now in as secure a place as any we could find in the

neighbourhood, and so Sigenok proposed seeking some necessary rest

before continuing our search. We proposed going into the house to

sleep, but we found that our bed-places had been carried away, and so,

of course, had every particle of furniture, as the bottom of the hut had

literally come out. We therefore returned to the canoe to sleep. At

early dawn we once more paddled south. There was little current and a

perfect calm. The waters, too, were subsiding, for several slight

elevations, before submerged, were now visible. After paddling for many

hours, we reached the south-western hills I have before described.

Several settlers were there, but no one had seen our father. We crossed

back to the eastern hills before nightfall. There were no tidings of

him there. The flood subsided, and we, like others, set off to return

to the now desolate site of our former abode. Sigenok conveyed us in

his canoe, and we pitched our tent on the very spot our hut had

occupied. In vain we searched for our father, in vain we made inquiries

of other settlers, no one had seen him. Day after day we waited,

thinking that he might have been swept downward with the flood clinging

to a piece of timber or some other floating body, and that he might as

yet be unable to return. Sam Dawes looked more and more sad when we

spoke of his return. Sigenok, who had remained by us, shook his head.

"He gone, no come back," he observed. Our hearts sank within us as the

sad truth forced itself on our minds that we were orphans.