Pals: Young Australians in Sport and Adventure

by Carol Norton

  *CHAPTER V*

  *THE BIG FLOOD*

  "The day is cold and dark and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall; But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary." LONGFELLOW.

  Drip, drip, drip!

  Croak, croak, c-r-o-a-k!

  Quack-quack, quack-quack!

  "Heigho!" grunted Tom Hawkins, as he turned over sleepily in bed. "Isit ever goin' to stop rainin'?"

  For some days a steady rain had been falling, soaking the ground. Everygully was a rivulet, and every depression a lake.

  "Tom!" cried a feminine voice from an interior room. "Get up!"

  "Bother those frogs an' ducks!" muttered the lad, full of sleep in thegrey of the early morning. "Like ter choke 'em! waking fler----"

  "Tom!" cried a masculine voice, as a hand rattled the door of the lad'sbedroom, and a boot gave a drum-like accompaniment on the lower panel."Git up this minit an' run the cows in, or I'll----"

  But Tom had jumped out of bed as nimbly as one of the frogs, betweenwhose croak and his father's bass voice he seemed unable, in his sleepycondition, to discriminate.

  "All right, father! I'm dressing," shouted Tom, as the word "dowsing"fell on his ear. There had been times in master Tom's past when asudden application of cold water was deemed necessary to expedite hisslow movements.

  "Dad's too mighty smart! Thought I'd nick him with that button,"growled Tom, as he stuck his legs into his pants; said button being aniron tee snip, fastened so as to act as a bolt.

  "Jemima! ain't it dark! Must be very early," muttered the reluctantboy, as he strove to lace his boots. "Drat it! Shan't wear 'em; toowet."

  "My crikey!" cried he as he stood outside. "Must have been rainin' catsan' dogs, an' lakes an' seas."

  His moleskins were rolled up to his thighs, while a cornsack, hooded atthe bottom, and stuck on to his head like a nun's veil, gave him fairprotection from the driving showers.

  "I wonder if it's goin' to be a flood?" The thought was not unpleasantto the lad. It produced, indeed, a certain exaltation of spirits,forcibly expressed in Tom's vernacular by, "Ge-willikins! but won't wehave fun!"

  Heavily laden clouds, in interminable succession, were drifting from thesea, forming, as they swung overhead in batches, an endless series ofsmart showers. It had been an exceptionally wet week, and for thepreceding twenty-four hours had rained without ceasing.

  The cows depastured in a paddock that ran back from a creek to thetimbered country. The creek itself was bank high and running strongly.It was only by climbing along the branches of a dead limb, which spannedthe water, that Tom managed to reach the kine.

  It was no small task to get them to face the stream. Small as was thecreek in width, it was deep enough to make a swim, and the roaring,turbid, and muddy stream frightened the creatures. But for the factthat the calves were in a pen at the milking yard all Tom's effortswould have been futile. Their mooing and baaing, however, made a loudappeal to the maternal breast. Finally, when the old red poley, themother of twins, made a plunge, the rest followed.

  During the morning the river rose steadily, and large quantities ofdrift-wood passed down the stream. With the rubbish was a good deal ofheavy timber, and--what Tom had predicted--pumpkins. This was anindication that the river up-stream had overflowed its banks in places,and was sweeping the low-lying farm lands. Tom spent the morning infishing out the floating vegetables that came within reach of his hookedpole. Meanwhile the rain continued, and looked as though it might lastfor forty days and nights.

  "I'll pull over to the township this afternoon," remarked Mr. Hawkins atthe midday meal. "I'm anxious about this rise. Looks as if we're goin'to have an old man flood. Might get some information about the state ofthings up-river. If I leave it till to-morrow 'twill be a tough jobgettin' acrost, as the timber's comin' down pretty thick now, an'll beworse by an' by."

  "Be sure'n bring tea and flour back with you. No knowing how long therise'll last."

  "Can I go with you, father?"

  "Yes; I'll require you to steer. It'll be a pretty stiff job, Ireckon."

  The crossing was not without peril. The current ran fierce and strong.The landing-place on the other side was protected, in a measure, by aheadland up-stream. Out from the influence of that, however, the boatmenfelt the full force of the current. The water seethed and foamed. Theviolence of its rush created great whirlpools, which accentuated thedifficulty of keeping the boat's head up-stream. Logs and driftwoodpatches had to be dodged, and, what with fighting the current andoutflanking the timber, by the time the river was crossed the boat haddrifted quite half a mile down-stream. On gaining the other side theyfound a shore eddy, in which they were able to paddle up-stream withease, until they came to a point of land about two hundred yards belowthe town wharf. As they lost the eddy here, and would have to encounterthe full force of the flood when round the point, Mr. Hawkins wiselydetermined to tie up the boat in the slack water.

  When Hawkins arrived at the store, where many of the townsfolk hadcongregated, he was informed that news had been brought down by themailman that morning to the effect that heavy rains were falling at thehead of the river, and that when the New England waters came down infull force the river might rise to the "high flood" marks.

  Cooees could now be heard from the settlers in the low-lying portions,adjacent to the township. They proceeded from those who had neglectedto move before being surrounded, and who were without boats. The policewere busily engaged in rescuing families by boat. Many townsfolk wereengaged on the same merciful errand.

  All through the day the waters, fed by the flooded creeks, continued torise, and as evening approached anxiety deepened. Things were soserious that Mr. Hawkins, whose farm, be it said, was situated oncomparatively low-lying lands, acting upon the advice of his friends,returned home almost at once. After hoisting the most valuable of hispossessions to the rafters, and securing them there, he returned to thetownship with his family; gaining it as dusk was deepening into dark.The family was distributed among neighbours, Tom and one of his sistersbeing quartered at Mr. Blain's.

  A group of men and boys throughout the day had lined the bank of theriver, in the vicinity of the Government wharf, which was submerged.They were engaged in gauging its rate of advance by pine laths scaled toinches.

  Towards evening the wind, veering from east to south-east, increased inviolence. Laden with torrential showers, it smote the earth in greatgusts, streaming through roofs and walls, and taxing the ingenuity ofhousekeepers to find dry spots for beds.

  The wind and flood waters, travelling in opposite directions, conflictedwith great violence. The roaring, boastful wind, as it lashed theracing, defiant waters into angry waves, and the universe-filling soundsof the seething, surging flood-waters, as they wrestled with andoverbore all opposing forces, made storm music, compared with which theartifices of man touch the infinitely puny. Darkness and the blindingrain had driven most of the river watchers indoors. A few, however,braved the elements, among them the minister and the lads.

  Whatever effect the flood may have had on others, the dominant feelingin Mr. Blain's mind was that of solicitude. As the rain continued, deepconcern merged into alarm. There were few on the river who knew asintimately as he the general havoc of a flood. The executive head ofthe Flood-relief Committee for many years, he had been the chiefinstrument in administering doles to flood victims. In many cases theutmost relief was as a drop of succour in the ocean of need.

  "If the rise continues for another twenty-four hours, as it is doingnow, it will beat the 'sixty-four flood, and, if so, God help ourdown-river friends," remarked the minister after examining Joe's gaugeby the aid of a lantern.

  The '64 flood was the highest known to white men up to the present. Thesettlers still retained a vivid recollection of its disastrous effects.Luckily, the to
wnship covered a piece of high ground, and though the lowparts were covered in a moderate flood, the higher portions were somefeet above the highest flood-mark. It was in the farming settlementsthat danger lurked.

  "If this yere flood beats 'sixty-four, it'll be as you say, Parson;good-bye to many up-river an' down-river folk."

  Mr. Blain's words had impressed both men and boys. Suddenly Joe, who wasin the midst of the group, sang out lustily--

  "Hurrah! wind's changed!"

  "What's that?" shouted back Mr. Blain excitedly.

  "Don't you feel it?" cried the boy, as he swung his arms windmillfashion.

  "Yes; thank God! The lad's right," continued he. "The wind's chopping.Don't you feel it, men? Ah! there's a decided puff from the north-east."

  "Take my word for it," said the ferryman, an old sailor, "the wind'll beblowing west afore morning."

  "Pray God it may!" ejaculated the minister, and many a silent prayer wasuttered.

  "Now, boys, let us return home. We can do no good standing here. We'llcome back in an hour or so."

  "Listen!" exclaimed Tom, as the boys splashed through the water on theirway home. Laying his hand on Joe's shoulder, he cried, "Do you hearthat?"

  "Don't hear anything but the roar of the river," replied Joe, as hestood in a listening attitude. "What was it?"

  "Hark! there it is again. A cooee. Seems to come from up the river,near the Bend. Some un's in trouble."

  "Now, boys, make haste and get in out of the rain," cried Mr. Blain, whohad hurried along.

  "Some one's crying out for help at the Bend," shouted Joe.

  The minister paused on hearing this. A moment later the cry came out ofthe night: faint, because of the distance and the turmoil of sounds, yetclear and convincing.

  "Great God! some poor soul in dire straits, and no help possible beforemorning!"

  It would have been worse than madness to attempt any rescue tilldaylight. To traverse the flood, even in daytime, anywhere near theBend, were a hazardous experiment, owing to the enormous vortices causedby the current striking a high bluff on the near side, at the elbow.The waters whirled like a merry-go-round under full steam, and boiledwith an upward heave, in a fashion similar to the mud springs ofTiketere. None but the stoutest boat and most experienced rowers coulddodge these seething cauldrons, which caught into their cold and cruelembrace trees, fencing, stock; anything material, in fact. The heaviestlogs and tree-lengths were as wisps of straw under the influence of themighty suction. To attempt the traverse at night were as foolhardy andimpossible as that of shooting Niagara in an open boat.

  A little group stood with the Blains, listening to the weird cry.

  "Who d'yer think it c'd be, sir?" said one of the men, turning to theminister.

  "Not any of the Bend families. We had word this afternoon saying thatthey had retreated to the high land before the waters reached them. Godhelp the poor soul, whoever it is, for vain is the help of man!"

  Throughout the live-long night the cry went up at intervals, like thatof the minute-gun of a distressed vessel. Shortly before daybreak itceased.

  No man or woman in the township slept that night. A strict watch waskept on the river, so as to be ready for any emergency. The waterscontinued to advance, but at a much slower rate. Men and womencudgelled their brains to individualise the wailing cry. Most wereagreed that it was a woman's cry, though some held it to be that of achild. Sometimes the voice was ghoulish, and made the flesh to creepand the heart to flutter. Then an intensely human note would prevail,full of anguish and terror, and women wept and stopped their ears, whilestrong men choked in the throat.

  They would go out at intervals and send back a heartening cry; it wasall that could be done. There were many others throughout that fearfulnight who were engulfed in the flood, in various parts of the river,and, swan-like, wailed their death-song in the wild waste.

  Shortly after midnight the rain ceased, and the wind, which had beenchopping and changing for the past few hours, settled finally in thewest. This proved a conspicuous advantage. It no longer checked theflood-waters as when in the east, and there was now good hope that theywould recede ere long, as the rise was almost imperceptible.

  "Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggersand falls with mighty crash."--_See p._ 43.]

  When day had dawned a wild, weird scene was revealed. The town hadbecome an island. On all sides the flood-waters stretched out, coveringgardens and farms, and completely blotting out the fair landscape. Onthe riverside the turgid stream tore along in its hurry, bearing on itsdirty, foam-crested bosom, as its spoils, the household gods, farmstock, and produce of many a settler. Horses, cattle, pigs, goats, dogs,fowls: these, swept off by the encroaching waters, and carried overfences into the stream, struggled, vainly for the most part, in therapid, death-dealing current. Haystacks, barns, wood-frame buildingsintact, floated in the torrential waters, sooner or later crashing intothe great trees that bore down-stream, making utter shipwreck.