The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  WINKLEMANN AND OLD LIZ GET INTO TROUBLE.

  At the parsonage, before the storm had fairly begun, the canoe party wasthought of with considerable anxiety, for Mrs Cockran knew how frailthe craft was in which her husband had embarked, and among thesixty-three persons who had taken refuge with her not one was capable oftaking command of the rest in a case of emergency. Great, therefore,was her satisfaction when Herr Winklemann appeared in his canoe with arequest for a barrel of flour.

  "You shall have one," said Mrs Cockran, "and anything else you mayrequire; but pray do not leave me to-night. I can give you acomfortable bed, and will let you go the moment my husband returns. Ifully expect him this evening."

  "Madam," answered the gallant Winklemann, with a perplexed look, "you isvere goot, bot de gale vill be rise qvickly, an' I dares not leaf minemoder vidout protection."

  "Oh! but just stay for an hour or two," entreated Mrs Cockran, "andshow the people how to go on with the stage. Perhaps my husband mayreturn sooner than we expect. Perhaps the storm may not come on; manysuch threatenings, you know, come to nothing."

  Winklemann looked anxiously up at the sky and shook his head, but theentreaties of the lady prevailed. The good-natured German consented toremain for a "ver leetle" time, and at once set about urging on anddirecting the erection of the stage. This stage was planned to be asubstantial platform about thirty feet square, supported on posts firmlydriven into the ground, so that the water might pass freely under it.In the event of the parsonage becoming untenable it would form a refugeof comparative safety.

  It was while Winklemann was busily engaged on the stage that the stormbroke forth which compelled the clergyman to spend the night on theislet, as already described. Of course the storm also forced Winklemannto remain at the station. But that impulsive youth's regard for his"moder" would not permit of his giving in without a struggle. When hesaw that the gale increased rapidly, he resolved to start off withoutdelay. He launched his canoe; a half-breed in his employment managedthe bow paddle, but they found that their united strength wasinsufficient to drive the craft more than a hundred yards against windand waves. Returning to the station, Winklemann engaged two additionalmen to aid him, but the increasing gale neutralised the extra force.After a vain struggle the canoe was hurled back on the knoll, a wavecaught the bow, overturned it, and threw the men into the water at thevery door of the parsonage.

  The canoe was partially broken. Time was required to repair it. Timealso gave the gale opportunity to gather power, and thus the chafingGerman was compelled to spend the night at the station.

  Meanwhile, those men whom he had left behind him spent a terrible night,but the brunt of the trouble fell upon old Liz.

  Poor old Liz! She was a squat piece of indomitable energy, utterlyregardless of herself and earnestly solicitous about every one else.

  When the storm commenced, her dwelling had begun to show symptoms ofinstability. This fact she carefully concealed from Daddy and old MrsWinklemann, who remained in their respective chairs smiling at eachother, for both were accustomed to good treatment from their children,and regarded life in general from a sunny point of view. They knew thatsomething very unusual was going on, but the old frau said--or thought--to herself, "My boy will look after me!" while Daddy said, or thought,"Liz knows all about it." Happy trustful spirits! Enviable pair!

  Having informed the pair that she was going away for a minute or two tolook after something outside, old Liz left them. She found herself upto the knees in water, of course, the moment she passed the doorway.From an outhouse she procured a strong rope. This she fastened to alarge iron ring in the side of the hut, and attached the other end to athick tree whose branches overshadowed it. Even during the brief timeshe was thus engaged the flood increased so rapidly, and the rising windblew so wildly, that the poor creature was almost carried off her shortlegs. But old Liz had a powerful will, and was strong-hearted. Havingaccomplished her object, and lost for ever her frilled cap in so doing,she struggled back towards the door of the hut. A passing billet offirewood tripped her up and sent her headlong into the flood. Shedisappeared, but emerged instantly, with glaring eyes, gasping mouth,and streaming hair. A resolute rush brought her to the door-step; sheseized the door-post, and was saved.

  "Hech! but it's an awfu' time," gasped old Liz, as she wrung the waterfrom her garments.--"Comin', Daddy! I'll be their this meenit. I'vegotten mysel' a wee wat."

  "What's wrang?" asked Daddy, in a feeble voice, as his ancient daughterentered.

  "It's only a bit spate, Daddy. The hoose is a'maist soomin', but ye'venae need to fear."

  "I'm no' feared, Liz. What wad I be feared o' whan ye're there?"

  "Ver is mine boy?" demanded old Mrs Winklemann, looking round.

  "He's gane to the kirk for floor. Ne'er fash yer heed aboot _him_.He'll be back afore lang."

  The old woman seemed content, though she did not understand a word ofLiz's Scotch.

  "Bless mine boy," she said, with a mild smile at Daddy, who replied withan amiable nod.

  But this state of comparative comfort did not last long. In half anhour the water came over the threshold of the door and flooded thefloor. Fortunately the old couple had their feet on wooden stools andthus escaped the first rush, but old Liz now felt that something must bedone to keep them dry. There was a low table in the room. She draggedit out and placed it between the couple, who smiled, under theimpression, no doubt, that they were about to have their evening meal.

  "Daddy, I'm gaun to pit yer legs on the table. It'll be maircomfortabler, an'll keep ye oot o' the wat."

  Daddy submitted with a good grace, and felt more easy than usual, thetable being very little higher than his chair. Mrs Winklemann wasequally submissive and pleased. Covering the two pairs of legs with ablanket, old Liz produced some bread and cheese, and served out rationsthereof to keep their minds engaged. She plumed herself not a little onthe success of the table-and-legs device, but as the water rose rapidlyshe became anxious again, though not for herself. She waded about thehut with supreme indifference to the condition of her own lower limbs.At last she mounted upon the bed and watched, as the water rose inch byinch on the legs of the two chairs.

  "What _wull_ I do whan it grups them?" she muttered, experiencing thatdeep feeling of anticipation with which one might watch the gradualapproach of fire to gunpowder.

  The objects of her solicitude snored pleasantly in concert.

  "It'll kill them wi' the cauld, to say naething o' the start," continuedthe old woman with deepening, almost desperate, anxiety. "Oh man, man,what for did ye leave us?"

  This apostrophe was addressed to the absent Winklemann.

  One inch more, five minutes longer, and the flood would reach the bodiesof the old couple. Liz looked round wildly for some mode of deliveringthem, but looked in vain. Even if her strength had been adequate, therewas no higher object in the room to which she could have lifted them.The bed, being a truckle one, and lower than the chairs, was alreadysubmerged, and old Liz herself was coolly, if not calmly, seated in twoinches of water. At the very last moment deliverance came in anunexpected manner. There was a slight vibration in the timbers of thehut, then a sliding of the whole edifice. This was followed by a snapand a jolt: the ring-bolt or the rope had gone, and old Liz might, withperfect propriety, have exclaimed, in the words of the sea song, "I'mafloat! I'm afloat! and the Rover is free!"

  For one moment her heart failed; she had read of Noah's ark, but hadnever quite believed in the stability of that mansion. Her want offaith was now rebuked, for the old hut floated admirably, as seamenmight say, on an even keel. True, it committed a violent assault on atree at starting, which sent it spinning round, and went crashingthrough a mass of drowned bushes, which rendered it again steady; butthese mishaps only served to prove the seaworthiness of her ark, and ina few minutes the brave little woman revived. Splashing off the bed andspluttering across the room, she
tried to open the door with a view tosee what had happened and whither they were bound, for the two windowsof the mansion were useless in this respect, being fitted with parchmentinstead of glass. But the door was fast, and refused to open.

  "We'll a' be lost!" exclaimed Daddy, in alarm, for he had been awakenedby the shock against the tree, and was now slightly alive to theirdanger.

  "Ver is mine boy?" asked the old frau, in a whimpering voice.

  "Nae fear o' 'ee," said Liz, in a soothing tone. "Him that saved Noahcan save us."

  "Open the door an' see where we are, lassie," said the old man.

  "It'll no' open, Daddy."

  "Try the wundy, then."

  "I'm sweer'd to break the wundy," said Liz. "Losh, man, I'll try thelum!"

  The chimney, to which old Liz referred, was capacious enough to admit alarger frame than hers. Moreover, it was a short one, and the fire hadlong ago been drowned out. With the enthusiasm of an explorer, thelittle woman stooped and entered the fireplace. She felt about insidefor a few moments, and in doing so brought down an enormous quantity ofsoot. Immediately there was a tremendous coughing in the chimney.

  "Lassie! lassie! come oot! Ve'll be chokit," cried Daddy, in alarm.

  "Hoots, man, hand yer gab," was the polite reply.

  Liz was not to be easily turned from her purpose. Raising one leg upshe found a crevice for her right foot, and the aged couple beheld theold creature, for the first time, in the attitude of a _danseuse_,standing on one toe. Next moment the remaining leg went up, and shedisappeared from view. If there had been any one outside, the old womanwould have been seen, two minutes later, to emerge from the chimney-topwith the conventional aspect of a demon--as black as a Zulu chief,choking like a chimpanzee with influenza, and her hair blowing freely inthe wind. Only those who have intelligently studied the appearance ofchimney-sweeps can form a proper idea of her appearance, especially whenshe recovered breath and smiled, as she thought of her peculiarposition.

  But that position was one which would have damped the courage of any oneexcept old Liz. The storm was beginning to grow furious; the sun, whichhad already set, was tingeing the black and threatening clouds withdingy red. Far as the eye could reach, the once green prairie presentedan angry sea, whose inky waves were crested and flecked with foam, andthe current was drifting the hut away into the abyss of blackness thatseemed to gape on the horizon.

  "What see ye, Liz?" cried Daddy, bending a little, so as to send hisvoice up the chimney.

  "I see naethin' but watter; watter everywhere," said Liz, unconsciouslyquoting the Ancient Mariner, and bending so as to send her reply down.She did more; she lost her balance, and sent herself down to the bottomof the chimney, where she arrived in a sitting posture with a flop,perhaps we should say a squash, seeing that she alighted in water, whichsquirted violently all over her sooty person.

  This sudden reappearance astonished the aged couple almost more than itsurprised Liz herself, for she could not see herself as they saw her.

  "Hech! but that _was_ a klyte; but ne'er heed, Daddy. I'm nane thewaur. Eh, but I'll ha'e to clean mysel'," said old Liz, rising slowlyand going straight to a corner cupboard, whence she took a slab of soap,and began to apply it vigorously, using the entire room, so to speak, asa wash-tub. The result was unsatisfactory; beginning the process as apure black, she only ended it as an impure mulatto, but she was content,and immediately after set herself to fasten the aged pair more securelyin their chairs, and to arrange their limbs more comfortably on thetable; after that she lighted a candle and sat down on the sloppy bed towatch.

  Thus that household spent the night, rocked, as it were, on the cradleof the deep.

  At daylight Herr Winklemann rose from his sleepless couch at theparsonage, and finding that the wind had moderated, launched his canoe.He left the mission station just an hour before Mr Cockran returned toit.

  Anxious was the heart of the poor youth as he wielded the paddle thatmorning, and many were the muttered remarks which he made to himself, inGerman, as he urged the canoe against wind and current. As he nearedhome his fears increased. On reaching a certain part from which he hadbeen wont to descry the chimney of old Liz's hut, he perceived that thefamiliar object was gone, and uttered a mighty roar of horror.

  The half-breed in the bow ceased paddling, and looked back in alarm.

  "Git on, you brute!" shouted Winklemann, at the same time exerting hisgreat strength as though he meant to urge the light craft out of thewater into the air.

  A few minutes more and they swept round into the space where the hut hadonce stood. There was nothing left but the bit of rope that had beenmade fast to the ring-bolt. Poor Winklemann let his paddle drop andsank almost double with his face in his hands.

  "Mine moder," was all he could say, as he groaned heavily. In a fewseconds he recovered with a start and bade the man in the bow paddle forhis life.

  Winklemann, of course, knew that the house must have floated downwardswith the current, if it had not been utterly overwhelmed. He directedhis search accordingly, but the breadth of land now covered by the floodcaused the currents to vary in an uncertain manner, as every ridge, orknoll, or hollow in the plains modified them. Still, there could beonly one general direction. After a few minutes of anxious reflectionthe bereaved man resolved to keep by the main current of the river. Hewas unfortunate in this, for the hut, in commencing its adventurouscareer, had gone off in the direction of the plains. All day he and hiscompanion paddled about in search of the lost family, but in vain. Atnight they were forced to return to the parsonage for a little food andrest, so as to fit them for a renewal of the search on the followingmorning.

  At the mission station they found Mr Cockran, with his wife and fortyof his people, established on the stage. Early in the day the water hadburst into the parsonage, and soon stood a foot deep on the floor, sothat the pastor deemed it high time to forsake it and take to the lastrefuge. It was a crowded stage, and great was the anxiety of many ofthe mothers upon it lest their little ones should be thrust over theedge into the water. No such anxiety troubled the little onesthemselves. With that freedom from care which is their high privilege,they even gambolled on the brink of destruction.

  Next day was the Sabbath. To go to church was impossible. There werethree and a half feet of water in that building. The day was fine,however, and sunny. The pastor, therefore, had service on the stage,and being an earnest, intelligent man, he made good use of the floodsand the peculiarity of their circumstances to illustrate and enforce hisdiscourse.

  Long before the hour of worship had arrived, however, poor Winklemannwent off in his canoe, and spent the whole of that day, as he spentseveral succeeding days, in anxious, diligent, hopeful, but finallydespairing search for his lost old "moder."