CHAPTER XXVII
A RACE FOR LIFE
Those who have been so unfortunate as to be placed in the path of anoverwhelming flood, which after slowly gathering for weeks and monthsfinally bursts all barriers, need not be told that the awful roarcaused by the resistless sweep can never be mistaken for anythingelse.
The mill-dam, to which we have made more than one reference, had notbeen erected, like that at Johnstown, to afford fishing grounds forthose who were fond of the sport, but was reared fully twenty yearsbefore to provide water-power for a company of capitalists, whoproposed erecting a series of mills and manufactories in the valleybelow. They progressed as far in their enterprise as the formation ofa substantial dam when the company collapsed, and that was the end oftheir scheme.
The dam remained, with its enormous reservoir of water, which, insummer, furnished excellent fishing and, in the winter, fine skating;but during all that time the valuable store of power remained idle.
The sudden breakage of the dam, without apparent cause, wasunaccompanied by the appalling features which marked the greatdisaster in Pennsylvania a short time since. The town of Piketon wasnot in the course of the flood, nor were there any dwelling-housesexposed to the peril with the exception of the home of a single humblelaborer.
The water became a terrific peril for a brief while, but such massesspeedily exhaust themselves, though it was fortunate indeed that thetopography of the country was so favorable that the uncontrollablefury was confined in so narrow a space.
But the camp of the Piketon Rangers lay exactly in the course of theflood. Bob Budd and his friends had pitched their tent there becausethe spot was an inviting one in every respect, and no one had everdreamed of danger from the breaking of the reservoir above.
It was night when that fearful roar interrupted the conversation ofthe Rangers. The young men were silent on the instant, and stared withbated breath in each other's faces.
"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Bob Budd, rising partly from his seat, "thedam has burst!"
"And I can't swim a stroke!" gasped the terrified Wagstaff.
"Nor me either!" added McGovern; "I guess the end has come, boys."
"I can swim," replied Bob, trembling from head to foot, "but thatwon't help me at such a time as this."
"Are we going to stay here and be drowned?" demanded Jim, rousinghimself; "we might as well go down fighting; every one for himself!"
As he uttered this exclamation he dashed through the tent and amongthe trees outside, where the rays of the moon could not penetrate, andit was dark as Egypt.
A strong wind seemed to be blowing, though a few minutes before theair was as still as at the close of a sultry summer afternoon. Thewind was cool. It was caused by the rush of waters through the denseforest.
It was evident to McGovern and the rest that there was but onepossible means of escape--possibly two--and he attempted that whichfirst occurred to him: that was by dashing at right angles to thecourse of the torrent. If he could reach ground higher than thesurface of the water, as it came careering through the wood, he wouldbe safe; but he and his companions knew when the awful roar broke uponthem that the waters were close, while it was a long run to theelevated country on either side.
But if anything of the kind was to be attempted there was not a momentto spare. One second might settle the question of life and death.
"Maybe I can make it!" was the thought that thrilled McGovern as hebegan fighting his way through the wood, stumbling over bushes,bumping against trunks, and picking his way as best he could; "itisn't very far to the high ground, but I have to go so blamedslow--great thunder! my head's sawed off!"
At that moment a stubby limb caught under the chin of the franticfugitive and almost lifted him off his feet. He quickly freed himselfand dashed wildly on again with feelings that must have resembledthose of the multitude fleeing from before the sweep of theoverwhelming lava.
A vine enclosed the ankle of the fugitive and he fell headlong; he wasinstantly up again and collided with a tree, which he did not detectsoon enough in the gloom; at any other time McGovern would have takenhis own time in rising and vented his feelings, but he did not do sonow; his single thought was one wild, desperate hope that he mightescape.
He never exerted himself so before, for, despite the stirringexperiences through which he had passed in his short life, he hadnever encountered anything like this.
Those who have hovered on the verge of death have made known that inthe few seconds when life was passing, the whole record of theirformer lives has swept like a panorama before them. The events ofmonths and years have clustered in those few fearful moments.
Jim McGovern's experience was somewhat similar. There were mighty fewseconds at his command, while struggling with the whole energy of hisnature to reach the rising ground beyond reach of the flood; but insome respects that brief interval of time was as so many years to him.
How well it will be if, when we reach that supreme moment which mustcome to all of us, the hasty retrospect brings us pleasure and hoperather than remorse and despair!
There was nothing of this nature in the review that surged through thebrain of the miserable fellow. Broken promises, disobedience toparents, wrangling, thievery, drinking--these were the scarlet tints ofthe picture which memory painted for him in vivid colors.
"If you'll only save me," he gasped, addressing the sole One who couldrescue him, "I will stop the bad things I've been doing all my life,and do my best to live right always."
Would he never pass the boundary of this narrow valley? It had alwaysseemed straight to him before, but now its width was expanded not toyards and rods, but to miles. And never were the trees so closetogether or the bushes, vines, and undergrowth so dense, or his ownwind so short, or his muscles so weak.
Suddenly something cold was felt against his ankle.
He knew what it was--it was water!
The fringe of the flood had reached him. Where the bursting away wasso instantaneous and the released volume was so enormous, the flowcould not be like that of an ordinary torrent, which rises rapidlybecause of the swiftly-increasing mass behind it. The awful rush atJohnstown resembled the oncoming of a tidal wave or wall of water, sohigh, so prodigious, so resistless that nothing less than the side ofa granite mountain could check it.
It would have been the same in the case we are describing, though ofcourse to a less degree, but for the interposing wood, which,beginning at the very base of the dam, continued the entire length ofthe valley, which was several miles in extent.
Some of these trees were uprooted as if by a cyclone, others were bentand partly turned over, while the sturdiest, which did not stand nearthe middle of the path, held their own, like giants resisting deathtugging at their vitals.
The woods also acted as a brake, so to speak, on the velocity of theterrific rush of waters. The flow could not be stopped nor turnedaside, but it was hindered somewhat, and, as it came down the hollow,was twisted and driven into all manner of eddies, whirlpools, andcurrents, in which the most powerful swimmer was as helpless as aninfant.
"It's no use!" panted McGovern, when he felt the cold current risingabout his ankles like the coiling of a water-snake; "I must die, andwith all my sins on my head! Heaven have mercy! do not desert me nowwhen a little farther and I will be saved!"
Never was a more agonized appeal made to his Creator than that by thedespairing McGovern.
The Campers Out; Or, The Right Path and the Wrong Page 27