by E. W. Howe
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE RISE IN THE RIVER.
The rain had been falling at intervals for weeks, and the sluggishriver, which usually crawled at the foot of the town in quietsubmission, had become a dangerous torrent. Long since out of its banks,its waters poured through the bottoms with an angry roar, and at nightthose who gathered on the brink in the town to mark its steady risingcould hear cries of distress from the heavy timber, the firing of guns,and other alarms.
For two days parties had been out with boats of every description,rescuing those who believed that the waters would soon go down, andremained until escape was impossible, imprisoned in the upper rooms oftheir houses; and each returning party brought the most distressing newsyet heard of the havoc wrought by the flood. Reaching from hill to hill,the angry waters ploughed up fair fields like heavy shot fired inbattle, and crept into pretty homes to destroy in a night the work ofyears, wresting treasures from their fastenings with remorseless fury,and hurrying away with them like living thieves.
The citizens of Davy's Bend feared that the sun had been drowned by theflood in the heavens, as the people were being drowned by the flood inthe bottoms, for its kindly face had not appeared in two weeks. Theroads and lanes in the country, highways no longer, were abandoned tothe rain and the mist, for no travellers ventured upon them, and if thetown had been dull before, it was now doubly so, giving the peopleabundance of time in which to recount their miseries. Men who venturedout in wagons told wonderful tales, on their return, of the reign of thewaters, for insignificant streams which had long been regarded withfamiliar contempt had become dangerous rivers, roaring and crashingthrough fruitful fields in mad haste to join the floods. Great lakesoccupied the low places for so many days that the people feared the landitself had floated away, leaving caverns in the place of their fields,and there was distress in the country as well as in the town. Rude boatsto ply upon the newly arrived waters were hastily constructed by men whodid not know how to use them, never having lived near a navigablestream, but there seemed a chance for them to learn, for the watersincreased steadily every hour.
As they lay in their beds at night, if they wakened and found that therain had ceased, the people of the town hoped that the end had come atlast, and that the waters would soon subside, but before they had framedtheir congratulations, the gentle patter of the rain was heard on theirroofs once more, which continued through the long night, ceasing onlyoccasionally, that the cries of distress and the alarms from the bottommight be heard, whereupon the rain commenced again with joyful vigor,sure that its fury was not without result.
The rocky hills above and below the town were oozy and wet; and thosewho roamed about heard great splashes in the water, and knew thatportions of the bluff were tumbling into the river, as if tired of beingsteady and reliable while everything else was failing, and anxious tojoin the tide and aid in the general destruction, as well as to get awayfrom a place which seemed so unfortunate.
The mild river, patient and uncomplaining so long, was master now, andit roared like a monster proud of its conquest, and declaring itsintention to be wicked and fierce forever. The observers could notunderstand, so great was the awful flood, how the waters could eversubside, for surely all the lower country must have been flooded daysbefore, and even those who lived in the hills were filled with graveapprehensions.
Every morning the simple registers, which the people put up along thecreeks and sloughs, showed an alarming rise, and they feared that if therain continued the earth itself would become liquid at last, and resolveitself into a vast sea without shores.
No one knew how the news came, but there seemed to be whispers in theair that in the upper country the flood was even worse than at Davy'sBend, which added to the general apprehension, and many believed thatthe rainbow was about to prove faithless at last. Houses of a patternbarely familiar to the people occasionally floated past the town in thecurrent, and in one of them rode a man who refused to leave his propertywhen the relief boats put off to him; for he said that he came fromhundreds of miles above, and that since the world seemed to be turninginto water, he preferred his strange craft to the crumbling hills. As hefloated away, stark mad from excitement, fear, and hunger, he calledback to the men to follow if they valued their lives; for a wave twentyfeet high was coming down the river, carrying the towns along the bluffswith it.
Bridges which had been built across gullies in the highlands were seenhurrying by every hour, and it seemed that the hill on which Davy's Bendwas built would shortly tremble, and start slowly down the river, atlast gratifying the ambition of the people to get away.
Among those distressed by the unfortunate condition of those living inthe bottoms were Allan Dorris and his wife, safe in their home above thetown. The people seemed so fearful that the rain would never cease thatthey neglected to get sick, and Dr. Dorris would have greatly enjoyedthe uninterrupted days he was permitted to spend with his pretty wifebut for the distress around him.
The dripping from the eaves of The Locks at night--he thought of itagain--reminded him of the dripping from the coffin of a body packed inice, which he was commissioned to watch, and long before day he left hisbed and walked the floor. His wife soon joined him, and they looked outof the window at the blank darkness.
"How it reminds me of the first night I came here," he said. "But what adifferent man I am! Then I cursed my existence, and was so disturbed inmind that night was a season of terror. I dreaded its approach asheartily then as I now hail it as a season of repose, and every day Ihave new reason to rejoice that I am alive. What a fortunate fellow Iam! I can sleep nine hours out of every night, and arise every morningentirely refreshed, not a day older. I am content now to lie down atnight, and let the world wag, or quarrel, or do whatever it likes, forthe only part of it I care for is beside me. Sometimes I waken, andforget you for a moment, when I wonder how I ever induced such soundsleep to come to my eyes; but when I remember it all, I feel likecheering, and go off into dreamland again with the comfort of a healthychild. It is a wonderful change, and you are responsible for it all; youhave made one man entirely happy, if you have accomplished nothingelse."
As they stood by the window, he had his arms around her, and when shelooked up at him he kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
"Our marriage has brought no more happiness to you than it has to me,"she answered. "Since you became my husband, I have known only contentand gladness, except when I become childish and fear you are surroundedby some grave danger. If I could charge you with a wish I could think ofnothing to ask."
"Who would harm me? Who would dare?" he asked.
His wife thought to herself, as she looked at him, that it would be adangerous undertaking to attempt to do him an injury. There were few menhis equal in physical strength, and he could hold her out at arm'slength.
"Danger is a game that two can play at," he said, and there was a frownon his face so fierce as to indicate that some one who was his enemy hadcome into his mind. "I have seen the day when I would have allowedalmost any one the privilege of taking my life, if it would haveafforded them pleasure, but let them keep out of my way now! The tigerfighting for her whelps would not be fiercer than I, if attacked. I havemore to live for than any other man in the world, and I would fight, notonly with desperation, but with skill and wickedness. If any one wantsmy life, let him see that he does not lose his own in attempting to takeit."
Allan Dorris had been oppressed with a vague fear ever since hismarriage that his long period of rest meant a calamity at last, thoughhe had always tried to argue the notion out of his wife's mind. He hadoften felt that he was watched, though he had seen nothing, heardnothing, to warrant this belief. He could not explain it to himself; butfrequently while walking about the town he turned his head in quickalarm, and looked about as if expecting an attack. Once he felt so illat ease at night, so thoroughly convinced that something was wrong, thathe left his wife quietly sleeping, and crawled under the trees in TheLocks' yard for an hour,
with a loaded pistol in his hand. But he hadseen nothing, heard nothing, and his own actions were so much like thepresence he half expected to find, that he was ashamed of them, andlaughed at his fears.
But the dark night and the cheerless rain brought the old dread into hismind, and he said to his wife,--
"We are all surrounded by danger, though I am as exempt from it as othermen, but if I should meet with an accident some time--I take many longrides at night, and I have often been in places when a single misstep ofmy horse would have resulted in death--I want you to know that yourhusband was an honorable man. I have my faults, and I have regrets; butas the world goes I am an honest man. Your love for me, which is as pureand good as it can be, has had as much warrant as other wives have fortheir love. It was never intended that a perfect man or woman shouldexist on this earth, as a reproach to all the other inhabitants, and Ihave my faults; but I have as clear a conscience as it was intended thatthe average man should have."
"I am sure of that," his wife answered. "You always impress me as beinga fair man, and this was one reason why I forget myself in loving you. Idid not believe you would be unjust to anyone; surely not to one youloved."
"I believe I am entitled to the compliment you pay me," he replied. "Iknow myself so well that a compliment which I do not deserve does notplease me; but I deserve the good opinion you have just expressed. Ihave known people whose inclinations were usually right; but mine wereusually wrong--either that, or I have been so situated that, by reasonof hasty conclusions, duty has always been a task; but notwithstandingthis I have always tried to be honest and fair in everything. Itsometimes happens that a man is so situated that if he would be just tohimself he must be unjust to others. I may have been in that situation,and there may be those who believe that I have wronged them; but I amsure that an honest judge would acquit me of blame. I have often wantedto tell you my brief and unimportant history; but you have preferred notto hear it. While I admire you for this exhibition of trust in me, Ihave often wondered that your woman's curiosity did not covet thesecret."
"It is not a secret since you offer to tell it to me," she replied. "ButI prefer not to know it now. You once said to me that every life has itssorrow; mine is the belief that I know what your history is; but Iprefer to hope that I am wrong rather than know my conjecture is right."
He looked at her with incredulity, and was about to inquire what sheknew, when she continued:
"You never speak to me that I do not get a scrap of your past history; Iread you as easily as I read a book. But I knew it when I became yourwife, and I think less of it now than ever; you are so kind to me that Ithink I shall forget it altogether in time. It is scarcely a sorrow;rather a regret, as I regret during my present happy life that I amgrowing old. Sometimes I think I love you all the more because of yourmisfortune, though I never think of it when I am with you; it is onlywhen I am alone that it occupies my mind."
"You are sure that you have not made it worse than it is?"
"Quite sure."
"Who was in the right?"
"You were."
"That much is true, anyway," he answered, looking out at the torrent inthe river, which the approaching daylight now made visible. "I formerlyhad a habit of talking in my sleep; you may have learned something inthat way."
"A great deal," she replied. "I learned your name."
For the first time since she had known him he seemed confused, and therewas a flush of mortification in his face. He picked up a scrap of paperand pencil which were lying on a table near them, and handing them toher, said,--
"Write it."
Without the slightest hesitation, she wrote quickly on the paper, andhanded it back to him. He looked at it with a queer smile, tore up thescrap, and said,--
"That would have come out in the story you refused to hear. I have neverdeceived you in anything."
"Except in this," she answered, putting her arms around him. "You are amuch better man than I believed you were when we were first acquainted;you have deceived me in that. My married life could not be happier thanit is."
"I do not take much credit to myself that we are content as husband andwife," he replied. "I think the fact that we are mated has a great dealto do with it. There are a great many worthy people--for the world isfull of good women, if not of good men--who live in the greatestwretchedness; who are as unhappy in their married relations as we arehappy. I have known excellent men married to excellent wives, who arewretched, as I have known two excellent men to fail as partners inbusiness. You and I were fortunate in our alliance. It often occurs tome that Mrs. Armsby should have had a better husband, poor woman. Howmany brave, capable men there are in the world who would rejoice in thepossession of such a wife; worthy, honest men who made a mistake only inmarrying the wrong woman, and who will die believing there is nothing inthe world worth living for, as I believed before I met you. Everyone whois out in the world a great deal knows such men, and pities them, as Ido; for when I contrast my past with my present, I regret that others,more deserving than I, cannot enjoy the contentment which love brings.You and I are not phenomenal people in any respect, but we are man andwife in the fullest sense of the term; and others might enjoy the peacewe enjoy were they equally fortunate in their love affairs. It is agrand old world for you and I, and those like us, but it is a hell forthose who have been coaxed into unsuitable marriages by the devil."
"There is as much bitterness in your voice now as there was when yousaid to me in the church that you were going away never to come back,"his wife said, looking at him with keen apprehension.
"I am a different man now to what I was then," he replied, with his oldgood-nature. "Have you never remarked it?"
"Often; every time I hear you speak."
"I find that there are splendid people even in Davy's Bend, and Iimagine that when the mind is not tortured they may be found anywhere.In my visits to the homes of Davy's Bend, I hear it said in everyquarter that surely the neighbors are the best people in the world, andtheir kindness in sickness and death cause me to believe that as a rulethe people are very good, unless you chain two antagonistic spiritstogether, and demand that they be content. I know so much of theweakness of my race--because it happens to be my business--that I wonderthey are as industrious and honorable as I find them. This neveroccurred to me before, and I think it is evidence that I am a changedman; that I am more charitable than I ever was before, and better."
They both looked out the window in silence again. A misty morning,threatening rain, and the river before them like a sea.
"I must do something to help those who are imprisoned in their homes bythe flood," Allan Dorris said, as if a sight of the river had suggestedit to him. "I will go down where boats are to be had presently, and rowover into the timber. Do you see that line of trees?"
Below the town, in the river bend, a long line of trees made out intothe channel, which were on dry land in ordinary times, but the point wascovered now, for the flood occupied the bottom from bluff to bluff. Hepointed this out, and when his wife saw the place he referred to, shenodded her head.
"My boat will be carried down the stream by the strong current, and Iwill probably enter the timber there. I will wave my good-by to you fromthat point."
He went out soon after to prepare for the trip, and during his absencehis wife hurriedly prepared his breakfast; and when he came back he worecoat and boots of rubber.
"What a wonderful housekeeper you are," he said, as he sat down to thetable. "No difference what I crave, you supply it before I have time toworry because of the lack of it. But it is so in everything; I neverwant to do a thing but that I find you are of the same mind. It is veryeasy to spoil a boy, but I think the girls are naturally so good thatthey turn out well without much attention. You had no mother to teachyou, but you took charge of my house with as much good grace and ease asthough you had been driven to it all your life. I think a great dealmore of your sex because of my acquaintance with you. If my wife is notthe most wonderful
woman in the world, I shall never know it."
"I am almost ashamed to say it after your kind remark," his wifereplied, "but I am afraid I do not want you to go over into the bottoms.The thought of it fills me with dread, though I know you ought to go."
"And why not?" he said cheerfully. "I may be able to rescue someunfortunate over there, and there is nothing dangerous in the journey. Ishall return before the night comes on,--no fear of that; but before Igo I want to tell you again how much my marriage with you has done forme. I want you to keep it in your mind while I am away, that you mayunderstand why I am glad to return. Until I came here and met you, I wasas discontented as a man could possibly be, and I am very grateful toyou. A life of toil and misery was my lot until you came to my rescue,and I thank you for your kindness to me. It occurred to me while I wasout of the room just now, that the shadow under the trees is very muchlike the shadow I intended to penetrate when you came to me that darknight and blessed me. Once you came into the room where I was lyingdown, after returning from the country, though I was not asleep as yousupposed. The gentle manner in which you touched my forehead with yourlips; that was love--I have thought about it a thousand times since, andbeen thankful. The human body I despise, because of my familiarity withit; but such a love as yours is divine. I only regret that it is notmore general. Love is the only thing in life worth having; if a man wholacks it is not discontented, he is like an idiot who is alwayslaughing, not realizing his condition. Some people I have knownsuggested depravity by their general appearance; you think of your ownfaults from looking at them, and feel ashamed; but it makes me ambitiousto look at you, and every day since I have known you I have been abetter man than I was the day before."
He had finished his repast by this time, and they walked out to thefront door together, arm in arm, like lovers.
"I have heard it said," he continued, as he tied up his rubber boots andmade final preparations for starting, "that if a wife is too good to herhusband, he will finally come to dislike her. _You_ are too good to me,I suppose, but it never occurs to me to dislike you for it; on thecontrary, it causes me to resolve to be worthy of your thoughtfulness.It will do me good to go into the shadow for a day; I will appreciatethe sunshine all the more when I return. But if I should not return--ifan accident should happen to me, which is always possible anywhere--mylast thought would be thankfulness for the happiness of the past threemonths."
"But you do not anticipate danger?" she said, grasping his arm, as if tolead him back into the house.
"There is no danger," he replied. "Even if my boat should fail me, Icould swim back to you from the farthest point, for I love you so much.You have never seen my reserve strength in action; if a possibility ofbeing separated from you should present itself, I imagine I shouldgreatly surprise my enemies. Never fear; I shall come back in good time.I believe that should I get killed, my body would float against thecurrent and hug the bank at the point nearest The Locks."
He kissed her quickly and hurried away, and his form was soon lost inthe bend of the street.
How dark it was under the trees! The increasing dull daylight brightenedeverything save the darkness under the trees; nothing could relievethat. What if he should go into it never to return, as he had intendedthe night they were married! No, no, no; she wrung her hands at thatthought, and ran towards the door, as if intending to pursue him andbring him back before he could enter it. But Allan was strong andtrusty, and he would come back to laugh at her childish fears as shetook his dripping garments at the close of the day, and listened to anaccount of his adventures,--no fear of that.
A half hour later she saw a boat with a single rower put out from thetown, and make slow headway against the strong current to the othershore. Was he going alone? It was not dangerous; she persuaded herselfof that, but she thought it must be very lonesome rowing about in such aflood; and he should not go out again, for he would do anything shewished, and she would ask it as a favor.
Why had she neglected to think of this, and ask him to go with others?But it was too late now, for the rower soon reached the line of trees hehad pointed out to her from the window, waved his white handkerchief,which looked like a signal of danger, and disappeared into the shadow.