The Desert Home: The Adventures of a Lost Family in the Wilderness

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  THE MYSTERIOUS FLOOD.

  "Well, my friends, I shall now detail to you the strange incident, whichat once decided me to adopt the suggestion of my wife, and make our homein the valley. Perhaps we did not, at the time, contemplate stayinghere for the remainder of our lives--but only for a few years. However,we resolved to remain for the present, and give our lonely life a fairtrial, leaving the future an open question.

  "The reason why I had hesitated at all upon the subject was this:--Icould not think of settling down with no prospect of improving ourcondition; for, however much we might exercise our industry, itsproducts could not enrich us beyond the satisfying of our own wants. Weshould have no market, thought I, for any superfluous produce, evencould we cultivate the whole valley. We could, therefore, become noricher, and would never be in any fitter state to return to civilisedsociety--for, in spite of all, a thought of this still remained in mymind.

  "Mary, who was of a far more contented disposition than I, stillpersisted in arguing that as our happiness did not depend uponpossessing riches, we would never desire to leave that lovely spot, andthat, consequently, we should stand in no need of wealth.

  "Perhaps hers was the true philosophy--at all events, it was the naturalone. But the artificial wants of society implant within us the desireof accumulating individual property; and I could not rid myself of thisprovident feeling. `If we could only find some object,' said I, `uponwhich we might be exercising our industry, so that _our time should notbe wasted_, and by which we might prepare ourselves for returning tosociety, then might we live most happily here.'

  "`Who knows?' said Mary, in reply to this; `there may be objects in thisvalley that may occupy us, and enable us to lay up the very store youspeak of, as well as if we were to continue on to New Mexico. Whatopportunities should we have there better than here? We have nothingnow to begin life with anywhere. Here we have food and land, which Ithink we may fairly call our own; there we should have neither. Here wehave a home; and how know you, Robert, that we may not yet make afortune in the Desert?'

  "We both laughed at the idea; which, of course, Mary had meant only as ajest in order to render our prospects more cheering.

  "It was now near midnight, for we had sat up to that late hourdeliberating on what we should do. As I have said, we agreed to leavethe matter undecided until the morrow. The moon was just appearing overthe eastern cliff; and we were about rising to retire to ourresting-places, when our eyes fell upon an object that caused us all atthe same time to cry out with astonishment.

  "I have said, that when we first entered this valley there was no lakehere. Where you now see one, was a green sward, with here and there acoppice of trees, forming part of the little prairie in which we wereencamped. The stream ran across it, as it still does through the lake;but at this point there were scarcely any banks, as the water flowedover a wide and shallow channel. On previous nights, when the moon wasshining into the valley, as we sat around our camp fire, we had noticedthe stream winding like a silver thread through the dark-green herbage.Now, to our extreme wonder, instead of the narrow line, a broad sheet ofwater glistened before us! It seemed to cover a space of severalhundred yards in extent, reaching far up the glade towards our camp.Could it be water, or was it only the _mirage_--the _fata morgana_? No;it was not the latter. We had witnessed this before, on our passageacross the great plains. We had witnessed it on several occasions, andit was nothing like what we now saw. There is a filmy, whitishappearance about the illusions of the _mirage_ by which the experiencedtraveller can always distinguish it from the real. But there wasnothing of that in the present instance. It was water that spreadbefore us,--for the moon, that had now risen above the cliff, wasplainly reflected upon its calm and glassy surface. Yes; it could benothing but a sheet of water!" But we were determined not to trust toour eyes alone. We all ran towards it--Cudjo, the boys, and myself,--and in a few seconds we stood upon its edge--upon the edge of whatappeared to be a large lake, formed as if by some magical influence!

  "We had at first regarded the phenomenon only with feelings of wonder;but our wonder was now changed to consternation, when we perceived thatthe water was still rising! It ran in about our feet while we stood,rippling slowly against the gentle ascent like the influx of a tide.

  "`What could it mean?' we asked of each other, with looks that betrayedour fears. Was it a flood--an inundation--a sudden swelling of thestream? This it plainly was, but what could have caused it? There hadbeen no rain for several days before, and no great heat to have causedany unusual melting of the snow upon the mountain. What, then, could bethe origin of this sudden and singular freshet? What could it mean?

  "We stood for some time silent, with hearts beating audibly,--eachlooking at the others for an answer to this question. The solutionseemed to strike us all at the same time, and a fearful one it was.Some terrible convulsion--the falling of the precipice perhaps--haddammed the canon below; no doubt, had blocked up the great fissure bywhich the stream found its way from the valley. If such were the case,then, the valley would soon fill with water, not only to cover theground occupied by our camp, _but the tops of the highest trees_!

  "You will easily conceive the terror with which this thought wascalculated to inspire us. We could think of no other cause for thestrange inundation; nor, indeed, did we stay longer to consider of any,but ran back to the camp, determined to escape from the valley as soonas we could. Cudjo caught the horse, Mary awoke the children, andbrought them out of the wagon, while the boys and I busied ourselves incollecting a few necessary things, that we might be enabled to carryalong with us.

  "Up to this time we had not thought of the difficulty--much less the_impossibility--of escaping from the valley_. To our horror, that nowbecame clear as the sun at noon-day; for we perceived that the road bywhich we had entered the glade, and which lay along the stream, wascompletely covered, and the rising water reached far beyond it! Therewas no other path by which we could get out. To attempt cutting onethrough the thick tangled woods would be the work of days; moreover, weremembered that we had crossed the stream on the way to our camp, andthat, of course, would now be swollen below, so that to re-cross itwould be impossible. We had no doubt but that the valley, at its lowerend, was by this time filled with water, and our retreat in thatdirection completely cut off! _We knew of no other path_!

  "I cannot describe the state of mind into which we were thrown, whenthese facts became evident to one and all of us. We were about to startout from the camp, each of us carrying our burden; but it was plainly ofno use making the attempt, and we let fall the various utensils with afeeling of despair. The water was still rising--_the lake was growinglarger_!

  "The wolves howled, driven from their lair by the encroaching element--birds, roused from their sleep, screamed and fluttered among the trees--our dogs barked at the strange sight--and, in the clear moonlight, wecould see deer, and other wild animals, rushing, as if terrified,through the open glade. O God! were we to be engulfed, and perish inthis mysterious flood?

  "What was to be done? Should we climb into the trees? That would notsave us. If the great channel was blocked up below, I knew that _that_would not save us; for its jaws were higher than the tops of the highesttrees, and the rising flood would soon wash us from the branches. Itmight prolong our lives, and with them our despair; but what--`Ha!' Thethought, heaven-directed, at this moment entered my mind.

  "`_A raft! a raft! we shall yet be saved_!'

  "My companions at once understood my meaning. Cudjo seized the axe,while Mary hastened to the wagon to collect such ropes and cords as werein it. I knew there would not be enough of these for our purpose; and,spreading out the great elk-skin, I proceeded to cut it into stripes.

  "There were several logs lying close to our camp. They were the trunksof tall straight trees, that, from time to time, had fallen, and werenow quite dead and dry. They were the trunks of the beautiful_rhododendrons
_, or tulip-trees, out of which the Indians always maketheir canoes, when they can get them of sufficient size. This, becausetheir wood is extremely soft and light--weighing only twenty-six poundsto the cubic foot. While busy myself, I directed Cudjo to cut a numberof these logs into equal lengths. Cudjo knew how to handle an axe withany man; and the logs were soon of the proper dimensions. We now rolledthem together, and, by the aid of our ropes and cross pieces, lashedthem firmly to one another; and our raft was completed. Upon this weplaced our great chest containing the jerked meat, with our blankets,and such utensils as were necessary to be saved. We laid in no stock ofwater for the expected voyage--we had no fear about our having enough ofthat.

  "We had been occupied nearly two hours in constructing the raft; butduring all this time we had been so busy, that we had hardly looked inthe direction of the flood--only to see that it still continued to rise.As soon as our arrangements were completed, I ran down to the water'sedge. After watching it for a few minutes, to my great joy I perceivedthat _the flood was at a stand_! I shouted the glad news to mycompanions, who, on hearing it, hastened to join me, and assurethemselves by actual observation. For half-an-hour, we all stood uponthe shore of the new-formed lake, until we became convinced that itswaters were rising no higher. We saw, too, that they did not subside,but remained stationary. `It has reached the top of whatever has dammedit,' thought we, `and is now flowing over.'

  "`What a pity, Massa Roff,' said Cudjo, as we wended our way back to thecamp; `what a pity we make dat fine raff for nuffin!'

  "`Ah, Cudjo,' rejoined my wife, `we should never regret having performedthat which is a work of precaution; and we must remember that the raft--although it may not be required as we intended it--has already far morethan repaid us for the labour bestowed upon it. Remember the misery wewere suffering but a short time since, and from which the idea of thisraft at once relieved us. Measures of precaution, however irksome,should always be adopted. It is only the slothful and vacillating whoeither neglect or regret them.'

  "`Dat's true, Missa--dat's berry true,' said Cudjo, in a serious tone,for he well knew how to appreciate the teachings of his noble mistress.

  "It was now very late, or rather very early, and Mary, with thechildren, returned to their usual resting-place in the wagon. Cudjo andI, fearing to trust to the capricious water, determined--lest it mighttake another turn, and `catch us napping'--to keep watch on it till themorning."