CHAPTER IV
AT THE MERCY OF THE FLOOD
IN that moment of alarm Sandy forgot all about his lame ankle. Herealized, as soon as the crash came, that the dugout was about to sink,for water began to pour in over the side. So he obeyed the cry of hisbrother, and made a spring for the safety of the log that had done thedamage.
"MADE A SPRING FOR THE SAFETY OF THE LOG THAT HAD DONETHE DAMAGE."]
How he managed to scramble on it he could never afterwards explain;but, when he had done so, and looked around, it was to discover Bobsitting astride the rolling log, close by, and the half-sunken boatjust vanishing from sight in the gathering gloom.
"How is it, Sandy; are you all right?" anxiously asked Bob.
"I'm on the log, if that is what you mean," gasped the younger boy,noticing, however, that their strange craft began to roll less, nowthat they had settled down upon its broad back.
"And I hope you held on to your gun?" Bob went on; for even in thatterrible moment he could remember such a thing. This was hardly to bewondered at, because it had taken both of the boys many a long month'swork with their first traps, away off in Virginia, to gather togetherenough money to purchase the flint-lock muskets they owned, and whichhad always served their purpose well. To lose one meant anotherexpenditure of hard-earned shillings, and even pounds.
"I have it here, safe and sound," replied Sandy, not without a touchof pride in his voice; for to have managed to get aboard that rollinglog in such a hurry, and to keep a grasp upon the long musket, was notrifling task.
"That was a close shave," said the elder brother, with a long-drawnsigh; since he had been terribly alarmed for the moment, more onaccount of Sandy than for himself.
"We never had a more exciting time," admitted his brother, frankly.
"And we have much to be thankful for," continued Bob.
"For this old floating log, you mean?" observed Sandy, not without atouch of sarcasm in his voice.
"Yes, because even an old log may turn out to be a pretty good friend,"Bob went on, positively. "I've heard father declare that a sailor isthankful for any port in a storm; and, only for this log, we might havebeen swimming our level best right now, brother, to keep our headsabove water."
"That may be," answered Sandy, still unconvinced; "but you forgetthat, only for this same log, we would have been safe and sound in ourdugout, and paddling as nice as anything for the bank. As it is, we'velost our boat, paddle and all, as well as the fox and mink; and willhave to borrow Alexander Hodgson's craft until we can build another."
"Let us shout as loud as we can," proposed Bob. "Perhaps some of thesettlers will hear us, if they are down near the edge of the river,watching how fast it keeps on rising."
Accordingly both lads sent out sturdy calls at the top of their voices;but there came back no answering, reassuring shout. Only the murmur ofthe flood could be heard, or it might be a grinding noise as the logcame in contact with other floating stuff.
So finally the boys, as if by mutual consent, gave up hallooing.
For a little time they sat there in silence, both looking uneasilytoward the shore which marked the connecting link between themselvesand their home, though it could only be faintly seen, where thetree-crowned hills stood out against the dull, darkening heavens.
Bob suddenly aroused himself. This was no time for vain regrets. Theymust be up and doing, if they hoped to cope with the new and strangesituation into which a freak of fortune had so suddenly thrust them.
"We must try to do something to get ashore, Sandy," he said, firmly.
"I was just thinking that way, myself," admitted the other; "but, sincewe have no paddles, and this log chooses to remain out here in themiddle of the river, I'm bothered to know how it can be done."
As usual, Sandy was depending part upon his brother to suggest someway out of their difficulty; not that he did not possess a bright mindhimself, but when it came to quick thinking, and the suggesting of areasonable plan, Bob was always to be relied on.
"Paddles would do us little good just now, I fear," said Bob. "We areboth of us good swimmers, and might be able to make the shore; butthe water is very cold, and there would be danger of a cramp catchingone of us. For that reason I don't like the idea of deserting thisfriendly log. We are at least safe as long as we have it to cling to."
"But, Bob, what if we keep on floating all night? We will be chilledto the marrow with this cold wind, and the rain that promises to fall.Besides, when the dawn breaks, we will find ourselves many miles downthe river. And what would mother think?"
"Well, I've got a plan in my mind that might help us," the other wenton. "We don't want to lose our guns, to begin with; and, once we tookto the water in that way, how could we hold on to them? So here's whatI was thinking. Let us fasten the guns, and our clothes, as far as wecan, to this log. I always carry some buckskin thongs in the pocket ofmy tunic, and there are knobs here and there, where branches have beenbroken off."
Sandy broke out laughing.
"But, what good would that do us?" he demanded. "If ever we did getashore, think how cold we should be, and likely to starve to death. Ithink I'd rather take my chances sitting right here, than try that."
"But you don't understand the whole of the plan yet, Sandy," the otherwent on, steadily, for he was quite used to having his impatientbrother break in upon him in this way.
"Oh! if there is more of it, I'm glad to hear it," Sandy remarked."After we've tied our guns, and part of our clothes, to the log, whatdo we expect to do then, Bob--fly away to the shore away over yonder?We might,--if only we had wings!"
"Listen, then," Bob pursued. "We'll slip down into the water, and, oneon either side of the log, start steering it in the direction of land.Do you understand now, brother?"
Sandy gave a shout, for he was always enthusiastic, once he discoveredany reason for being so.
"It is a great idea, Bob," he said, warmly. "And I never would havethought it out in an hour. Just as you say, we can, by slow stages,push the log ashore. Even if it is miles below the settlement, we willhave our clothes with us, and tinder bags to start a fire with. Butwhy, do you think, did no one answer our shouts back there?"
"In the first place," replied Bob, who was beginning to fumble around,in a hunt for the best nubbin of a broken branch, to which he mightsecure his valuables, consisting of his precious musket, powder horn,bullet pouch, tinder bag, and last, if not least of all, his clothes,which the loving fingers of their mother had fashioned out of pliabledeerskin; "in the first place, we must have been some distance belowthe settlement at the time of our accident."
"Yes," added Sandy, at once, seeing how reasonable this sounded, "Ithink you are right about that, Bob."
"And," continued the other, "even if they had guessed that the criescame from down the river, what could they have done to help us? Thereis no better boat than the one we owned; and, with night at hand, andthe sky as black as it is now, the women would not have let the menventure out upon the water. They are always in mortal fear lest thewily Indians lay some plan for the undoing of our settlement, and beginwith luring some of its defenders away."
Sandy, too, was beginning to secure some of his things to the novelcraft which a strange decree of fate had made them accept as a means ofriding the flood in safety. When he had received the several buckskinthongs which his brother passed over to him, the task of securing thegun to the two knobs he had selected was first of all begun, becausewith that in his hands he could accomplish little.
But Sandy, dearly loved to talk. It was indeed hard to keep him quiet,for he was always either seeking information from another, or elsedesirous of imparting his own views upon various subjects.
So, even as he worked, he must needs start afresh.
"How far do you believe we will be from home when we get to land?" waswhat he first of all asked his brother, just as though the other was aknowledge box upon which he could draw at will.
"That would be hard to say," replied Bob. "It al
l depends on how longwe are in landing. This flood must be going anywhere from six to sevenmiles an hour; and, even if we are lucky, we would find ourselvesperhaps ten miles below our home."
"That would be further than we have ever wandered down the river,"remarked Sandy, for their trapping and hunting had all been done withinthe immediate vicinity of the settlement, since game could often befound inside of ten minutes' walk.
Once only had the brothers been tempted to take a long journey. Thiswas when their sister Kate, at a time when their father had gone inVirginia on urgent business, had been carried off by a young chief ofthe Delawares; and a pursuit was undertaken by the brothers that ledthem to the far distant great lakes.[5]
"Well, if we can make the bank in safety, I, for one, will not complainof the distance," declared Bob. "How is your gun fixed now; are yousure that it will hold safe, even if we should knock up against anotherlog?"
"Yes, it is fast to the tree trunk, and can never slip loose," returnedSandy. "The more I think of this plan of yours, the better I like it,Bob. Once we are in the water, and swimming, we can urge the log towardthe shore, a foot at a time, it may be, but with a constant pressure,until at last we find that we can touch bottom. Then for a fire, andwarming up, for I fear by that time both of us will be chilled to thebone."
"And if your lame ankle is so bad that it prevents our getting backto-night, why, Sandy, what should hinder us from making camp in theforest, under some ledge, where we can keep out of the rain? Then,when morning comes, we can follow up the river until we reach our homeagain."
"It makes me feel better to hear you talk like that, Bob," declared theyounger of the two. "I wonder what I would have done without you?"
"Perhaps just what we mean to do right now," Bob went on to say. "Thetrouble is, Sandy, you will not think for yourself, when you have me todepend on. You must remember what father told you once, that every tubought to stand on its own bottom. But Simon Kenton tells me he was justsuch a youngster, until he found himself thrown on his own resources.It was the making of him, he declares; because such things are apt tobring out all there is in a boy."
Both of them were still diligently working to secure their possessionssafely to the friendly trunk, which, having been the means of theirdisaster, now seemed willing to make reparation as best it could byoffering them an asylum for those things which otherwise must have goneinto the river with them.
It had, by now, grown so dark that all they could see was a stretchof about thirty feet or so of surging water on either side of them.Ahead, a similar unending panorama opened up, and, had they chosen toturn their heads in order to cast a backward glance, they would havelooked upon the same dismal spectacle.
"There," said Sandy at last, "that job is done, and I'm ready to pulloff my tunic, hunting shirt, and coonskin cap, which I'll make up intoa bundle, and fasten with this last long thong. But, Bob, before we dothat, and go overboard, it seems to me we ought to give a last shoutfor help. There is about one chance in a thousand that some person in aboat may hear us."
"We'll take that chance, then, Sandy," echoed Bob. "So, ready now, andshout when I do, with all your might!"
Again did their lusty young voices ring out over the flood. Once,twice, thrice they gave tongue, and then, pausing, listened to see ifby chance there came any welcome reply. Immediately Sandy gave a lowbubbling cry of satisfaction.
"Did you hear that?" he demanded. "Some one certainly answered us;unless it was an echo from the hills away off yonder."
"It was no echo, Sandy," replied Bob. "Shout again, and louder thanbefore. There is hope of a rescue even now. That one chance looksbetter! Now, let go!"
This time the answering hail seemed somewhat closer, as though theywere sweeping down toward the spot where the unknown must be sitting inhis boat, holding it to some degree against the rushing current.
Sandy became wild with excitement. He had almost despaired ofassistance coming to them before, and, now that this sudden chanceloomed up, the horizon seemed to brighten visibly.
"Oh! I can hear the sound of paddles, Bob!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, that is what I was just listening to," answered the other, andSandy was surprised to note a lack of the same enthusiasm about Bobthat reigned in his own heart.
"What ails you?" he demanded. "We are in a fair way of being takensafely ashore, and yet you do not seem to be happy. Is there anythingwrong, do you think, about that answer to our shouts? Surely it couldnot be an echo, for by now we can make out the dip of paddles plainly.Tell me what worries you?"
"That is just it," replied Bob, soberly; "the dip of the paddles,as you say, which tells us that others are on the flood as well asourselves. But I have never heard a white man handle a paddle just likethat, and there are many who have tried it all their lives."
Sandy asked no more questions. Doubtless, if his face could have beenseen just then, it would be found to have taken on a sudden pallor, ashe muttered to himself the one significant word:
"Indians!"
FOOTNOTE:
[5] See "The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes."
The Pioneer Boys of the Mississippi; or, The Homestead in the Wilderness Page 7