CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
THE FLOOD CONTINUES TO DO ITS WORK.
Rapidly and steadily did the waters of the Red River rise, until,overflowing all their banks, they spread out into the plains, andgradually settler after settler retired before the deluge, eachforsaking his home at the last moment, and going off in quest of higherground with his cattle and property.
These high places were not numerous, for the whole region was verylevel. Many settlers discovered at that time a number of features inthe colony which had been unrecognised before, and found refuge on spotswhich had never been observed as lying above the dead level of theplains. Even these spots were not all safe. Many of them were speedilysubmerged, and those who had fled to them sought refuge on the stillhigher knolls, which soon became inconveniently crowded. Some milesfrom the river there was an elevation of ground named the "LittleMountain," and to this many of the people repaired. It was about asdeserving of its title as is a molehill; nevertheless it proved a safeasylum in the end.
Louis Lambert was driven from his home the day after that on which thehouse of his friend Winklemann was destroyed. His house was a stout oneof two storeys, and, owing to its position, was less exposed to thecurrent of the flood than many other dwellings. Confident of itsstrength and the security of its position, its owner had carried all hisgoods and furniture to the upper storey, but on returning, afterassisting his friend, he found the water in it so high that he feared itmight be set afloat--as some of the houses had already been--and finallymade up his mind to remove. But where should he remove to? That wasthe question.
"To zee hause of old Liz," observed his friend. "It is close to hand,an' zere is yet room."
This was true, but Lambert's inclinations turned in the direction ofWillow Creek; he therefore protested there was not room.
"No, no," he said; "it's not fair to crowd round old Liz as we aredoing. I'll ride down to Ravenshaw's and see if there is room on hisground to place my property. There will be plenty of time. Even if thewater should go on rising, which I hope it won't, my house can't floatfor many hours. Meanwhile, if you'll fetch round the boat, and placesome of the heavy goods in it, you'll be doing me a good turn."
"Vell, vell," muttered the German, as he looked after his friend with aquiet smile and a shake of the head, "dere is no madness like lof! Vena man falls in lof he becomes blind, qvite blind!"
The blind one, meanwhile, mounted his steed and galloped away on thewings of "lof." Lambert was a reckless rider, and an impatient thoughgood-natured fellow. He dashed at full speed through shallow places,where the floods were creeping with insidious, tide-like persistencyover the farm-lands, and forded some of the creeks, which almostrendered swimming unavoidable; but in spite of his daring he wascompelled to make many a vexatious detour in his headlong course down toWillow Creek. On the way his mind, pre-occupied though it was, couldnot escape being much affected by the scenes of devastation throughwhich he passed. Everywhere near the river houses were to be seenstanding several feet deep in water, while their owners were eitherengaged in conveying their contents in boats and canoes to the nearesteminences, or removing them from such eminences in carts to spots ofgreater security. Some of the owners of these deserted houses hadbecome so reckless or so despairing under their misfortunes, that theyoffered to sell them for merely nominal sums. It is said that some ofthem changed hands for so small a sum as thirty shillings or two pounds.
Cantering round the corner of a fence, Lambert came within a hundredyards of a house round which the water was deep enough to float a largeboat. Here he observed his friends, John Flett and David Mowat,embarking household goods into a large canoe out of the parlour window.Riding into the water, Lambert hailed them.
"Hallo, Flett, d'ee want help?"
"Thank 'ee, no; this is the last load. Got all the rest down to thechurch; the minister is lettin' us stow things in the loft."
"You're in too great haste, Flett," returned Lambert. "The water can'trise much higher; your place is sure to stand."
"Not so sure o' that, Louis; there's a report brought in by a redskinthat all the country between the sources of the Assinaboine and Missouriis turned into a sea, and the waters o' the Missouri itself are passingdown to Lake Winnipeg. He says, too, that a whole village of redskinshas been swept away."
"Bah! it's not true," said Lambert.
"True or false," rejoined Flett, resuming his work, "it's time for me toclear out o' this."
Forsaking the road, which he had hitherto attempted to follow, Lambertnow stretched out at full gallop into the plains. He came to a smallcreek and found that the simple wooden bridge had been washed away, andthat the waters of the river were driving its tiny current in the wrongdirection. In a fit of impatience he applied the whip to his steed,which, being a fiery one, rushed furiously at the creek. Fire does notnecessarily give an untrained horse power to leap. The animal made anawkward attempt to stop, failed, made a still more awkward attempt tojump, failed again, and stumbled headlong into the creek, out of whichhe and his master scrambled on the opposite side.
Lambert shook himself, laughed, leaped into the saddle, and went offagain at full speed. He came to the mission station, but did not stopthere. It still stood high above the waters, and was crowded withsettlers. Not far from it was a spot of rising ground, which wascovered with more than a hundred tents and wigwams belonging to Canadianand half-breed families. Passing on, he came upon other scenes ofdestruction, and finally arrived at the abode of old Mr Ravenshaw. It,like the mission premises, still stood high above the rising flood. Thefamily were assembled in the chief sitting-room, old Ravenshaw enjoyinga pipe, while the ladies were variously occupied around him.
"You've heard the report brought by the Indian about the flood, Ifancy?"
"Oh, yes; but I give no ear to reports," said the old gentleman,emitting an indignant puff of smoke; "they often end like _that_."
"True; nevertheless, it's as well to be prepared," said Lambert, with aglance at Elsie and Cora, who sat together near the window; "and I'vecome to beg for house-room for my goods and chattels, for the old houseis not so safe as I had thought."
"There's plenty of room in the barn for people in distress," said Elsie,with a glance at her sister.
"Or in the cow-house," added Cora, with a laugh and a slight toss of herhead; "we've had the cattle removed on purpose to make room for you."
"How considerate! And the cow-house of Willow Creek, with its pleasantassociations, is a palace compared to the hall of any other mansion,"said the gallant Louis.
A crash was heard outside just then. On looking from the windows, agreat cake of ice about five feet thick, with a point like a churchspire, was seen attempting, as it were, to leap the lower end of thegarden-fence. It failed; but on making a second attempt was moresuccessful. The fence went slowly down, and the spire laid its headamong the vegetables, or rather on the spot where the vegetables wouldhave been had the season been propitious. It was accompanied by a rushof water.
The sight was viewed with comparative composure by old Mr Ravenshaw,but his better half took it less quietly, and declared that they wouldall be drowned.
"I hope not!" exclaimed Miss Trim fervently, clasping her hands.
"We're high and dry just now, Louis," said Mr Ravenshaw gravely, "butWillow Creek won't be a place of refuge long if the rise goes on at thisrate. See, my neighbour is beginning to show signs of uneasiness,though the ground on which he stands is not much lower than my own."
As he spoke, the old fur-trader pointed to the house of Angus Macdonald,where a large cart was being loaded with his property.
Angus himself entered at the moment to beg leave to remove some of hisvaluables to his friend's barn.
"It iss not the danger, you see, Muster Ruvnshaw, that troubles me; itiss the watter. There are some things, as the leddies fery well know,will pe quite destroyed py watter, an' it is puttin' them out of harm'sway that I will pe after."
"Put whatever you like in the barn, Macdonald," said Mr Ravenshawpromptly; "Elsie and I have had it and the other outhouses prepared.You are heartily welcome. I hope, however, that the water won't risemuch higher."
"The watter will rise higher, Muster Ruvnshaw," returned Angus, with thedecision of an oracle; "an' it will pe goot for us if it will leave ourhouses standin' where they are. Peegwish will be tellin' me that; an'Peegwish knows what he iss apout when he is not trunk, whatever."
Peegwish did indeed know what he was about. At the very time that Anguswas speaking about him, Peegwish, feeling convinced that Macdonald'shouse was in danger, was on his way to the mission station, which heknew to be a place of greater safety, and where he felt sure of awelcome, for the Reverend Mr Cockran--in charge at the time--had aweakness for the old hypocrite, and entertained strong hopes of bringingabout his reformation. For two days he stayed in the parsonage kitchen,smoking his pipe, revelling in the odds and ends, such as knuckle-bones,stray bits of fat and tripe, which fell to his lot, and proudlyexhibiting himself in one of the minister's cast-off black coats, whichcontrasted rather oddly with a pair of ornamented blue leggings and ascarlet sash. When not busy in the kitchen, he went about among thehomeless settlers assembled round the mission, sometimes rendering alittle help, oftener causing a good deal of obstruction, and vainlyendeavouring to obtain beer, while he meditated sadly now and then onhis failure in the brewing line.
At the end of these two days, however, a great change took place at themission station, for the flood continued steadily to increase until itreached the church and parsonage, and drove the hundreds of people whohad assembled there away to the more distant knolls on the plains. MrCockran, with his household and Sabbath scholars, besides a few of thepeople, resolved to stick to the church as long as it should stick tothe ground, and Peegwish remained with them. He had unboundedconfidence in the good missionary, and still more unbounded confidencein the resources of the parsonage kitchen. Wildcat was similarlyimpressed.
At last the water rose to the church itself and beat against thefoundations of the parsonage, for the current was very strong and hadcarried away some of the fences. All the people were thus obliged totake refuge in the church itself, or in the parsonage.
On the 13th of May there were very few dry spots visible on or near thebanks of the Red River. Dozens of houses had been carried away, andwere either destroyed or stranded on localities far from their originalsites. As far as the eye could reach, the whole region had beenconverted into a mighty lake, or rather sea; for in the direction of theplains the waters seemed to join the horizon. Everywhere this sea wasstudded with islets and knolls, which grew fewer and smaller as thefloods increased. Here and there piles of floating firewood looked likeboats with square-sails in the distance, while deserted huts passed overthe plains with the stream like fleets of Noah's arks!
When the water began to touch the parsonage, its owner gave orders tocollect timber and make preparation for the erection of a strong stageas a final place of refuge.
"Come," said he to Peegwish, when his orders were being carried out;"come, get your canoe, Peegwish, and we will pay a visit to the poorfellows on the knoll up the river."
The Indian waded to a spot close by, where his canoe was fastened to apost, and brought it to the door, after the fashion of a gondolier ofVenice. The faithful Wildcat took the bow paddle; the clergyman steppedinto the middle of the craft and sat down.
They shot swiftly away, and were soon out of sight. The day was calmand warm, but the sky had a lurid, heavy appearance, which seemed toindicate the approach of bad weather. Paddling carefully along to avoidrunning against sunk fences, they soon came into the open plains, andfelt as though they had passed out upon the broad bosom of Lake Winnipegitself. Far up the river--whose course was by that time chieflydiscernible by empty houses, and trees, as well as bushes,half-submerged--they came in sight of a stage which had been erectedbeside a cottage. It stood only eighteen inches out of the water, andhere several women and children were found engaged in singing Watts'hymns. They seemed quite comfortable, under a sort of tarpaulin tent,with plenty to eat, and declined to be taken off, though their visitorsoffered to remove them one at a time, the canoe being unable to takemore. Further up, the voyagers came to the hut of old Liz.
This hut was by that time so nearly touched by the water that all thepeople who had formerly crowded round it had forsaken it and made forthe so-called mountain. Only Liz herself remained, and Herr Winklemann,to take care of their respective parents.
"Do you think it safe to stay?" asked the clergyman, as he was about toleave.
"Safe, ya; qvite safe. Besides, I have big canoe, vich can holt usall."
"Good-bye, then, and remember, if you want anything that I can give you,just paddle down to the station and ask for it. Say I sent you."
"Ya, I vill go down," said Herr Winklemann gratefully. And HerrWinklemann _did_ go down, much to his own subsequent discomfiture andsorrow, as we shall see.
Meanwhile Mr Cockran reached the knoll which he had set out to visit.It was of considerable extent, and crowded with a very miscellaneous,noisy, and quarrelsome crew, of all sorts, ages, and colours, in tentsand wigwams and extemporised shelters.
They received the clergyman heartily, however, and were much benefitedby his visit, as was made apparent by the complete though temporarycessation of quarrelling.
The elements, however, began to quarrel that evening. Mr Cockran hadintended to return home, but a gale of contrary wind stopped him, and hewas fain to accept the hospitality of a farmer's tent. That night thestorm raged with fury. Thunder and lightning added to the grandeur aswell as to the discomfort of the scene. Some time after midnight a gustof wind of extreme fury threw down the farmer's tent, and the pole hitthe farmer on the nose! Thus rudely roused, he sprang up andaccidentally knocked down Peegwish, who happened to be in his way. Theyboth fell on the minister, who, being a powerful man, caught them in abear-like grasp and held them, under the impression that they hadoverturned the tent in a quarrel while he was asleep.
At that moment a cry of fire was raised. It was found that a spark froma tent which stood on the windward side of the camp had caught the longgrass, and a terrestrial conflagration was added to the celestialcommotions of the night. It was a moment of extreme peril, for the oldgrass was plentiful and sufficiently dry to burn. It is probable thatthe whole camp would have been destroyed but for a providential delugeof rain which fell at the time and effectually put the fire out.
Of course Mr Cockran became very anxious about those he had left athome, for the storm had increased the danger of their positionconsiderably. Happily, with the dawn the gale moderated. Theimprovement did not, indeed, render canoeing safe, for the white-crestedwaves of that temporary sea still lashed the shores of the new-madeislet; but the case was urgent, therefore the clergyman launched hiscanoe, and, with Peegwish and the faithful Wildcat, steered for thestation.