Chapter 16 - The Adventures of a Lost Family in the Wilderness by Mayne Reid
The Mysterious Flood
“Well, my friends, I shall now detail to you the strange incident, which at once decided me to adopt the suggestion of my wife, and make our home in the valley. Perhaps we did not, at the time, contemplate staying here 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 fair trial, leaving the future an open question.
“The reason why I had hesitated at all upon the subject was this:—I could not think of settling down with no prospect of improving our condition; for, however much we might exercise our industry, its products could not enrich us beyond the satisfying of our own wants. We should have no market, thought I, for any superfluous produce, even could we cultivate the whole valley. We could, therefore, become no richer, and would never be in any fitter state to return to civilised society—for, in spite of all, a thought of this still remained in my mind.
“Mary, who was of a far more contented disposition than I, still persisted in arguing that as our happiness did not depend upon possessing riches, we would never desire to leave that lovely spot, and that, consequently, we should stand in no need of wealth.
“Perhaps hers was the true philosophy—at all events, it was the natural one. But the artificial wants of society implant within us the desire of accumulating individual property; and I could not rid myself of this provident feeling. ‘If we could only find some object,’ said I, ‘upon which we might be exercising our industry, so that our time should not be wasted, and by which we might prepare ourselves for returning to society, then might we live most happily here.’
“‘Who knows?’ said Mary, in reply to this; ‘there may be objects in this valley that may occupy us, and enable us to lay up the very store you speak of, as well as if we were to continue on to New Mexico. What opportunities should we have there better than here? We have nothing now to begin life with anywhere. Here we have food and land, which I think we may fairly call our own; there we should have neither. Here we have a home; and how know you, Robert, that we may not yet make a fortune in the Desert?’
“We both laughed at the idea; which, of course, Mary had meant only as a jest in order to render our prospects more cheering.
“It was now near midnight, for we had sat up to that late hour deliberating on what we should do. As I have said, we agreed to leave the matter undecided until the morrow. The moon was just appearing over the eastern cliff; and we were about rising to retire to our resting-places, when our eyes fell upon an object that caused us all at the same time to cry out with astonishment.
“I have said, that when we first entered this valley there was no lake here. Where you now see one, was a green sward, with here and there a coppice of trees, forming part of the little prairie in which we were encamped. The stream ran across it, as it still does through the lake; but at this point there were scarcely any banks, as the water flowed over a wide and shallow channel. On previous nights, when the moon was shining into the valley, as we sat around our camp fire, we had noticed the stream winding like a silver thread through the dark-green herbage. Now, to our extreme wonder, instead of the narrow line, a broad sheet of water glistened before us! It seemed to cover a space of several hundred 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 passage across the great plains. We had witnessed it on several occasions, and it was nothing like what we now saw. There is a filmy, whitish appearance about the illusions of the mirage by which the experienced traveller can always distinguish it from the real. But there was nothing of that in the present instance. It was water that spread before us,—for the moon, that had now risen above the cliff, was plainly reflected upon its calm and glassy surface. Yes; it could be nothing but a sheet of water!” But we were determined not to trust to our 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 what appeared 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 that the 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 betrayed our fears. Was it a flood—an inundation—a sudden swelling of the stream? This it plainly was, but what could have caused it? There had been no rain for several days before, and no great heat to have caused any unusual melting of the snow upon the mountain. What, then, could be the origin of this sudden and singular freshet? What could it mean?
“We stood for some time silent, with hearts beating audibly,—each looking at the others for an answer to this question. The solution seemed to strike us all at the same time, and a fearful one it was. Some terrible convulsion—the falling of the precipice perhaps—had dammed the cañon below; no doubt, had blocked up the great fissure by which 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 the ground occupied by our camp, but the tops of the highest trees!
“You will easily conceive the terror with which this thought was calculated to inspire us. We could think of no other cause for the strange inundation; nor, indeed, did we stay longer to consider of any, but ran back to the camp, determined to escape from the valley as soon as we could. Cudjo caught the horse, Mary awoke the children, and brought them out of the wagon, while the boys and I busied ourselves in collecting a few necessary things, that we might be enabled to carry along 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 now became clear as the sun at noon-day; for we perceived that the road by which we had entered the glade, and which lay along the stream, was completely covered, and the rising water reached far beyond it! There was no other path by which we could get out. To attempt cutting one through the thick tangled woods would be the work of days; moreover, we remembered that we had crossed the stream on the way to our camp, and that, of course, would now be swollen below, so that to re-cross it would be impossible. We had no doubt but that the valley, at its lower end, was by this time filled with water, and our retreat in that direction completely cut off! We knew of no other path!
“I cannot describe the state of mind into which we were thrown, when these facts became evident to one and all of us. We were about to start out from the camp, each of us carrying our burden; but it was plainly of no use making the attempt, and we let fall the various utensils with a feeling of despair. The water was still rising—the lake was growing larger!
“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, we could see deer, and other wild animals, rushing, as if terrified, through the open glade. O God! were we to be engulfed, and perish in this mysterious flood?
“What was to be done? Should we climb into the trees? That would not save 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 highest trees, and the rising flood would soon wash us from the branches. It might prolong our lives, and with them our despair; but what—‘Ha!’ The thought, 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 were in 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 trunks of tall straight trees, that, from time to time, had fallen, and were now quite dead and dry. They were the trunks of the beautiful rhododendrons, or tulip-trees, out of which the Indians always make their canoes, when they can get them of sufficient size. This, because their wood is extremely soft and light—weighing only twenty-six pounds to the cubic foot. While busy myself, I directed Cudjo to cut a number of these logs into equal lengths. Cudjo knew how to handle an axe with any man; and the logs were soon of the proper dimensions. We now rolled them together, and, by the aid of our ropes and cross pieces, lashed them firmly to one another; and our raft was completed. Upon this we placed our great chest containing the jerked meat, with our blankets, and such utensils as were necessary to be saved. We laid in no stock of water for the expected voyage—we had no fear about our having enough of that.
“We had been occupied nearly two hours in constructing the raft; but during all this time we had been so busy, that we had hardly looked in the 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’s edge. After watching it for a few minutes, to my great joy I perceived that the flood was at a stand! I shouted the glad news to my companions, who, on hearing it, hastened to join me, and assure themselves by actual observation. For half-an-hour, we all stood upon the shore of the new-formed lake, until we became convinced that its waters were rising no higher. We saw, too, that they did not subside, but remained stationary. ‘It has reached the top of whatever has dammed it,’ thought we, ‘and is now flowing over.’
“‘What a pity, Massa Roff,’ said Cudjo, as we wended our way back to the camp; ‘what a pity we make dat fine raff for nuffin!’
“‘Ah, Cudjo,’ rejoined my wife, ‘we should never regret having performed that 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 more than repaid us for the labour bestowed upon it. Remember the misery we were suffering but a short time since, and from which the idea of this raft at once relieved us. Measures of precaution, however irksome, should always be adopted. It is only the slothful and vacillating who either 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 the children, returned to their usual resting-place in the wagon. Cudjo and I, fearing to trust to the capricious water, determined—lest it might take another turn, and ‘catch us napping’—to keep watch on it till the morning.”