CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE GREAT FLOODS OF 1823.
All that night and all next day rain came down on the land in continuousfloods. The settlers had previously been visited with occasionalstorms, which had roused some alarm among the timid and done a littledamage, but nothing like this had yet befallen them. The water appearedto descend in sheets, and not only did the great rivers wax alarmingly,but every rill and watercourse became a brawling river.
The Skyds, and one or two others who, like themselves, had built toonear the edge of streams, were the first to suffer.
"This won't do," said John Skyd, on the evening of the second day, as heand his brothers sat in front of their cavern gazing at the turbidriver, which, thick and yellow as pea-soup, was hurrying trees, bushes,and wrack in formidable masses to the sea. "We must shift our abode.Come along."
Without a word more the brothers entered their cave, and began to carryout their goods and chattels. They were strong and active, but they hadmiscalculated the rapidity of the flood. Fortunately most of theirvaluables were removed to higher ground in time, but before all was gotout a sudden increase in the rushing river sent a huge wave curlinground the entire piece of ground on which their farm lay. It came onwith devastating force, bearing produce, fences, fruit-trees, piggeries,and every movable thing on its foaming crest. The brothers droppedtheir loads and ran. Next moment the cavern was hollowed out to twiceits former size, and the sofa, the rude cupboard, the sea-chest, andfamily bed were seen, with all the miscellaneous improprieties,careering madly down the yellow flood.
In their trousers and shirt-sleeves--for they had thrown off theircoats, as all active men do in an emergency--the brothers watched thedemolition of their possessions and hopes in solemn silence.
"I think," said John at length, with a sigh, "I've made up my mind tojoin Frank Dobson now."
Bob and Jim smiled grimly, but said never a word.
Meanwhile the settlers of Mount Hope farm were not idle. Although notfully alive to the danger of the storm, they saw enough to induce acourse of rapid action. Goods and cattle were removed from low-lyingbuildings to higher ground, but the dwelling-house, being on the highestpoint in the neighbourhood--with the exception of the hills themselves--was deemed safe.
In these arrangements the family were ably assisted by the unexpectedaccession of their friends. Hans, Considine, and Dobson taxed theiractivity and strength to the utmost, so that things were soon put in astate of security. Dobson did, indeed, think once or twice of his oldchums on the river, but a feeling of gallantry prevented his desertingthe ladies in the midst of danger, and besides, he argued, the Skyds arewell able to look after themselves.
Just as this thought passed through his mind the chums in questionappeared upon the scene, announcing the fact that their entire farm hadbeen swept away, and that _the water was still rising_.
"Well, it can't rise much higher now," said Edwin Brook, after condolingwith his young friends on their misfortunes, "and the moment it beginsto abate we shall go down to save all we can of your property. Youknow, my poor fellows, that I shall be only too glad to help you to theutmost of my power in such a sad extremity as this."
The brothers thanked their neighbour, and meanwhile aided the others inremoving the farm-produce and implements to higher ground.
Night at length settled down on the scene, and the wearied partyreturned to the cottage for food and rest.
"Do you think, Mr Marais," said Gertie, looking up timidly at thehandsome young Dutchman, "that the worst of it is over?"
Hans, who felt somewhat surprised and chilled by the "Mister," repliedthat he hoped it was.
But Hans was wrong. Late that night, after they had all lain down torest, Edwin Brook, feeling sleepless and uneasy, rose to look out at thewindow. All was comparatively still, and very dark. There wassomething grey on the ground, he thought, but judged it to be mist. Thenoise of the storm, with the exception of rushing streams, had gonedown, and though it still rained there was nothing very unusual to causealarm. He lay down again and tried to sleep, but in vain. Then hethought he heard the sound of the river louder than before. At the sametime there was a noise that resembled the lapping of water round theframe of the house.
Jumping up, he ran to his door, opened it, discovered that the supposedmist was water, and that his dwelling was an island in a great sea.
To shout and rouse the household was the work of an instant. His guestswere men of promptitude. They had merely thrown themselves down intheir clothes, and appeared in an instant. Mrs Brook and Gertie werealso ready, but Mrs Scholtz, being fond of comfort, had partiallyundressed, and was distracted between a wild effort to fasten certaingarments, and restrain Junkie, who, startled by the shout, was roaringlustily.
"Not a moment to lose!" said Brook, running hastily into the room, whereall were now assembled. "Everything is lost. We must think only oflife. Lend a helping hand to the women, friends--mind the boy.--Come,wife."
Brook was sharp, cool, and decisive in his manner. Seizing his wiferound the waist, he hurried her out into the dark night, stepping, as hedid so, above the ankles in rising water.
Dobson, Considine, and the three brothers turned with a mutual impulsetowards Gertie, but Hans Marais had already taken possession of her,and, almost carrying her in his powerful arms, followed her father.
"Come, my howlin' toolip," said George Dally, "you're my special and_precious_ charge. Shut up, will you!"
He seized the child and bore him away with such violence that thehowling was abruptly checked; while Scholtz, quietly gathering his stillhalf-clad spouse under an arm, followed with heavy stride.
The others, each seizing the object that in his eyes appeared to be mostvaluable--such as a desk or workbox,--sprang after the household andleft the house to its fate. They first made for the cattle-kraals, butthese were already flooded and the cattle gone. Then they tried a barnwhich stood a little higher, but it was evidently no place of refuge,for the stream just there was strong, and broke against it withviolence.
"To the hills," shouted Hans, lifting Gertie off the ground altogether,as if she had been a little child.
There was no time for ceremony. Edwin Brook lifted his wife in the samemanner, for the water was deepening at every step, and the currentstrengthening. The darkness, which had appeared dense at first, seemedto lighten as they became accustomed to it, and soon a terrible state ofthings became apparent. Turbid water was surging among the trees andbushes everywhere, and rushing like a mill-race in hollows. One suchhollow had to be crossed before the safety of the hills could be gained.The water reached Edwin's waist as he waded through. To preventaccident, John Skyd and Considine waded alongside and supported him.James Skyd performed the same office for Hans, and Bob waded just belowScholtz and his burden--which latter, in a paroxysm of alarm, stilltried frantically to complete her toilet.
The hills were reached at last, and the whole party was safe--as far, atleast, as the flood was concerned--but a terrible prospect lay beforethem. The farm of Mount Hope was by that time a sea of tumultuouswater, which seemed in the darkness of the night to be sweeping away andtearing up trees, bushes, and houses. Behind and around them were thehills, whose every crevice and hollow was converted into a wildwatercourse. Above was the black sky, pouring down torrents of rainincessantly, so that the very ground seemed to be turning into mud, andslipping away from beneath their feet. Fortunately there was no wind.
"To spend the night here will be death to the women and child," saidEdwin Brook, as they gathered under a thick bush which formed only apartial shelter; "yet I see no way of escape. Soaked as they are, acavern, even if we can find one, will not be of much service, for ourmatches are hopelessly wet."
"We must try to reach Widow Merton's farm," said John Skyd. "It is onlythree miles off and stands on highish ground."
"It's a bad enough road by daylight in fine weather," said George Dally,on whose broad shoulder Junkie had fall
en sound asleep, quite regardlessof damp or danger, "but in a dark night, with a universal flood, itseems to me that it would be too much for the ladies. I know a cave,now, up on the hill-side, not far off, which is deep, an' like to bedryish--"
"Never do," interrupted Hans Marais, to whose arm Gertie clung with afeeling that it was her only hope; "they'd die of cold before morning.We must keep moving."
"Yes, let us try to reach the widow's farm," said poor Mrs Brookanxiously, "I feel stronger, I think; I can walk now."
"Zee vidow is our only chanze.--Hold up, mein vrow," said Scholtz,taking a firmer grasp of his wife, who, having leisure to think and lookabout her now, felt her heart begin to fail. "I know zee road vell,"continued Scholtz. "It is bad, but I have zeen vurse. Ve must carryzee vimen. Zey could not valk."
As the women made no objection, those who had carried them from thehouse again raised them in their arms--Mrs Scholtz insisting, however,on being treated a little less like a sack of old clothes--and the marchalong the hill-side was begun.
George Dally, knowing the way best, was set in advance to take theresponsibility of guide as well as the risk of being swept away whilefording the torrents. The brothers Skyd, being free from preciousburdens, marched next, to be ready to support the guide in case ofaccident, and to watch as well as guard the passage of dangerous placesby those in rear. Then followed in succession Mr Brook with his wife,Charlie Considine, Hans with Gertie, and Scholtz with his vrow, theprocession closing with Frank Dobson and Junkie, the latter having beentransferred to Frank when Dally took the lead.
It was a slow as well as dangerous march on that dreary night, becauseevery step had to be taken with care, and the rivulets, white thoughthey were with foam, could scarcely be seen in the thick darkness. Manya fall did they get, too, and many a bruise, though fortunately no boneswere broken. Once George Dally, miscalculating the depth of a savagelittle stream, stepped boldly in and was swept away like a flash oflight. Jack Skyd made a grasp at him, lost his balance and followed.For a moment the others stopped in consternation, but they wereinstantly relieved by hearing a laugh from George a few yards down thestream as he assisted Skyd to land. At another time Scholtz was notcareful enough to follow exactly in the footsteps of Hans, and, whilecrossing a torrent, he put his foot in a deep hole and went down to thearmpits, thereby immersing his vrow up to her neck. A wild shriek fromthe lady was followed by "Zounds! hold me op!" from the man.
Hans turned short round, stretched out his long right arm--the leftbeing quite sufficient to support Gertie,--and, seizing the German'sshaggy hair with a mighty grip, held on till one of the Skyds returnedto the rescue.
It was also a melancholy march on that dismal night, for poor EdwinBrook was well aware, and fully alive to the fact, that he was a ruinedman. His labour for the previous three years was totally lost, and hisproperty swept entirely away. Only life was spared,--but for that hefelt so thankful as to feel his losses slightly at the time. Thebrothers Skyd were also painfully alive to the fact that they wereruined, and as they staggered and stumbled along, a sinking of heartunusual to their gay and cheerful natures seemed to have the effect ofsinking their steps deeper in the soft mire through which they waded.
Only two of the party were in any degree cheerful. Gertie, althoughoverwhelmed by the sudden calamity, which she had yet very imperfectlyrealised, felt a degree of comfort--a sort of under-current of peace--atbeing borne so safely along in such powerful arms; and Hans Marais, hugeand deep-chested though he was, felt a strange and mysterious sensationthat his heart had grown too large for his body that night. Itperplexed him much at the time, and seemed quite unaccountable!
The storm had revelled furiously round the widow Merton's wattle-and-dabcottage, and the water had risen to within a few feet of itsfoundations, but the effect on her mind was as nothing compared withthat produced by the sudden storming of her stronghold by the Mount Hopefamily in the dead of night, or rather in the small hours of morning.The widow was hospitable. She and her sons at once set about making theunfortunates as comfortable as the extent of their habitation and thestate of their larder would admit.
But the widow Merton was not the only one of the Albany settlers who hadto offer hospitality during the continuance of that terrible catastropheof 1823, and Edwin Brook's was not the only family that was forced toaccept it.
All over the land the devastating flood passed like the besom ofdestruction. Hundreds of those who had struggled manfully against theblight of the wheat crops, and Kafir thefts, and bandit raids, andoppression on the part of those who ought to have afforded aid andprotection, were sunk to the zero of misfortune and despair by thisoverwhelming calamity, for in many cases the ruin was total andapparently irremediable. Everywhere standing crops, implements ofhusbandry, and even dwellings, were swept away, and whole families foundthemselves suddenly in a state of utter destitution. The evil was toowide-spread to admit of the few who were fortunate enough to escaperendering effectual assistance to the many sufferers, for it was obviousthat hundreds of pounds would not be sufficient to succour the infantcolony.
In this extremity God's opportunity was found. The hearts of men andwomen far away, at Capetown, in India, and in England, were touched bythe story of distress; generosity was awakened and purses were opened.Men such as HE Rutherfoord of Capetown, the Reverend Doctor Philip, theReverend W Shaw, and others like-minded, entered heartily into the workof charity, and eventually some ten thousand pounds were distributedamong those who had suffered. To many this was as life from the dead.Some who would never have recovered the blow took heart again, bracedtheir energies anew, and ere long the wattle-and-dab cottages wererebuilt, the gardens replanted, and the lands cultivated as before.
The existence of the settlement was saved, but its prosperity was notyet secured. The battle had gone sorely against the valiant band ofimmigrants, and very nearly had they been routed, but the reinforcementshad enabled them to rally and renew the fight. Still, it _was_ a fight,and much time had yet to come and go before they could sit down in thesunshine of comparative peace and enjoy the fruits of their industry.
Meanwhile the oppressions and mismanagements of the Colonial Governmentwent on as before. It were useless in a tale like this to inflictdetails on our readers. Suffice it to say that in the distribution oflands, in treaties with the Kafirs, in the formation of laws for theprotection of Hottentots and slaves, in the treatment of the settlers, astate of things was brought about which may be described as confusionworse confounded, and the oppressed people at last demanded redress withso loud a voice that it sounded in England, and produced the RoyalCommission of Investigation already referred to in a previous chapter.
The arrival of the gentlemen composing this Commission followed close onthe Floods of 1823. The event, long looked for and anxiously desired,was hailed with a degree of eager delight scarcely to be understoodexcept by those who had gone through the previous years of high-handedoppression, of weary wrangling and appeal, and of that hope deferredwhich maketh the heart sick. Expectation was raised to the highestpitch, and when it was heard that the Commissioners had reached Capetownpreparations were made in Grahamstown to give them a warm reception.