in a previous chapter it has been told how the long hard winter of that year, (1826), had passed away, after an unwontedly severe tussle with the spring. the prophets of the land now began to hold up their heads and look owlishly wise, for their predictions were evidently about to be fulfilled.
had not old sam ravenshaw said all through the winter that “something would come of it”? was it not the daily remark of angus macdonald that such a state of things, “could not go on for ever—whatever”? had not peegwish glared prophecy with a degree of solemnity that rendered words not only impossible, but unnecessary? and had not miss trim asserted that dreadful consequences of some sort were sure to follow?
dreadful consequences did follow, and they began with a fine warm day. for a considerable time the fields of snow had been subjected to the influence of the blazing sun, and had been greatly diminished in depth. the day in question, however, was so very warm that louis lambert was induced to take his horse and gun with a view to wolf-hunting on the plains. the hard crust formed on the snow’s surface by the partial meltings of early spring is sufficiently strong to bear the weight of a wolf, but will not support a horse. wolves, therefore, roam about with ease and at will at that period, while horses are obliged to keep to beaten tracks. when, however, the thaws set in, the case is reversed. the wolf, with his short limbs, flounders laboriously in the drifts of soft snow, while the horse, with his long and powerful legs, can gallop in spite of these. thus wolf-hunting becomes, for a time, possible.
louis lambert was fond of the chase. he was also fond of courting, and, resolving to combine the two, galloped away to the abode of old ravenshaw. he had been there so often of late that he felt half ashamed of this early morning visit. lovers easily find excuses for visits. he resolved to ask if herr winklemann had been seen passing that morning, as he wished his companionship on the plains—the shallow deceiver!
“good-morning, cora,” he said, on entering the hall.
elsie, who stood at the window with her back to the door, turned quickly round.
“oh, i beg pardon,” he said, with a slightly confused air; “i thought you were cora, and—”
“well,” interrupted elsie, with a hurt look that accorded ill with a twinkle in her eyes; “i think you might know the difference between me and cora by this time, though you only saw my back.”
“ah, elsie!” returned the youth, as he shook hands, “you ought in fairness to make allowance for the effects of spring. you know full well that the glare of the sun on the snow half blinds a fellow, so that even when, when—”
“come, now, don’t search about in your empty brain for one of your unmeaning compliments, but say at once what brings you here at so early an hour. has a war party of sioux come down on us, or is the river about to break up?”
“war-parties of sioux are no doubt prowling about the plains somewhere,” returned lambert, with a smile, “and the ice will go soon if this heat continues; but neither of these things brought me here. the truth is, i came to ask if winklemann has been seen to pass your windows this morning?”
“the truth?” repeated elsie, with a searching look.
“well,” replied the youth, with a laugh, “i came also to see you and—and—cora.”
“and father also, i suppose?”
“why, elsie, you are unusually sharp this morning; but i really do wish to know if winklemann has been seen, because he had left home when i passed his house, and i want him to hunt with me.”
“then i may tell you that he passed our window not ten minutes before your arrival, going in the direction of the lower fort. he rides fast, as you know, so if you would catch him up you must follow quickly.”
the young man stood for a moment undecided, then, perceiving that elsie gave him no encouragement to remain, he bade her adieu and rode away.
“louis is remarkably fond of coming here,” said elsie to cora, who entered the room a few minutes later, “but he did not come to see us this morning. he only came to ask after herr winklemann.”
cora laughed, but gave no further evidence of the state of her mind.
just then peegwish the indian entered. he walked towards the sisters with that solemn dignity of manner peculiar to the north american savage, but the intensified solemnity of his looks and a certain unsteadiness in his gait rather marred the dignity.
“peegwish,” said elsie, going towards him with a grieved look, “you have been drinking beer again.”
the indian protested, in very bad english, that he had not tasted beer since the previous christmas; whereupon elsie proceeded to administer an earnest reproof to the muddled hypocrite, for she was really anxious to save him from the destruction which had already overtaken many of his red brethren through the baleful influence of fire-water; but peegwish was just then in no condition to appreciate her remarks. to all she said his only reply was that he wanted “bally.”
“you want bally?” returned elsie, with a puzzled look.
“yis—bally,” he repeated, and a gleam of indescribable slyness broke like a sunbeam on his solemn visage as he said it.
“what can he mean by bally, cora?”
“perhaps he means barley.”
“ho!” exclaimed the indian, with emphasis, by which he meant, “you’re right.”
but elsie had no barley to give him. she tried to find out what he wanted to do with the barley, but peegwish was not communicative. the gleam of cunning faded from his mahogany countenance, and he relapsed into a state of impenetrable wisdom, in which condition he retired, and betook himself to the upper part of the settlement, near fort garry, in quest of “bally.” here he found the people in a state of considerable excitement owing to the sudden and unusual rise of the river.
at fort garry the assinaboine river joins the red river, and flows with it into lake winnipeg. at the period of which we write, (the month of may), both rivers were yet covered with the icy garment—between four and five feet thick—under which they had gone to rest five or six months before. the vast accumulation of snow which had fallen that winter was melted so fast that the red river had risen with terrible rapidity, and it was obvious, from the ominous complainings of the “thick-ribbed ice,” that a burst-up of unwonted violence was impending. the strength of the ice, however, was so great that it rose with the swelling waters without breaking until nearly on a level with the top of the river banks. in some places, where the banks were low, the pent-up floods broke forth and swamped the land, but as yet little damage had been done.
of course the alarm of the settlers was considerable. rumours of former floods which had devastated the surrounding plains were rife, and those of the people whose houses stood on the lower grounds began to remove their goods and chattels to higher places. others delayed doing so in the belief that the river would not rise much higher, at all events that it would subside as soon as the ice broke up and cleared away to lake winnipeg. some there were whose dwellings stood on high ground, and who professed to have no belief in floods at all.
in other circumstances peegwish would have noted the state of things that prevailed, but at that time his faculties were steeped in beer. for some days past they had been in this condition, but his supply was exhausted, and people who knew his propensity refused to give him more. peegwish, therefore, being a somewhat resolute savage, resolved to adopt a course which would render him independent. chuckling to himself at the depth and cunning of his intended course of action, he went among the farmers begging for “bally”! some to whom he appealed treated him facetiously, others turned him away from their doors, being too anxious about the impending flood to listen to him. at last he found a soft-hearted soul in the person of michel rollin’s mother, old liz, who dwelt in a very small log-hut on a knoll at a considerable height above the river.
“what d’ee want wi’ the barley?” demanded old liz, who, besides being amiable, had a feeling of kindness for the man with whom her absent son had for years been in the habit of hunting.
“to heat ’im,” replied the indian.
“to eat it,” echoed the sturdy little woman; “weel, come in. i can spare some, but dinna mak’ a noise, daddy’s sleepin’.”
the savage entered with solemn though wavering caution. old though she was, liz had a living father. he was so very ancient, that if he had dwelt in egypt he would probably have been taken for a live mummy. he sat in the chimney corner, in an arm-chair to which liz had tied him to prevent his falling into the fire. he smiled and nodded at the fire when awake, and snored and nodded at it when asleep. beyond this, and a grateful recognition of his daughter’s attentions, he did and said nothing. gazing at daddy, peegwish fell into an owlish reverie, from which he was aroused by old liz putting a small sack of barley on the ground before him. the indian received it with thanks, threw it on his shoulder, and with an expression of unalterable determination on his visage, returned to his own home.
the home of peegwish was dilapidated like himself. it stood on a portion of ground belonging to angus macdonald, and was very near to the river’s brink. it was a mere log-cabin of the smallest dimensions, having one low door and one glassless window. the window also served the purpose of a chimney. its furniture was in keeping with its appearance—a stool, a couple of blankets, two little heaps of brushwood for beds, a kettle or two, a bag of pemmican, an old flint gun, two pairs of snow-shoes, a pair of canoe-paddles, a couple of very dirty bundles, and an old female. the latter was the dirtiest piece of furniture in the establishment. she was sister to peegwish, and was named by him wildcat.
despite appearances, the hut was comfortably warm, for wildcat—who, to do her justice, had been grossly misnamed—was fond of heat. she devoted the chief part of her existence to the collection of fuel, most of the remainder being spent in making moccasins, etcetera, and cooking.
“put on the pot, wildcat,” said peegwish on entering, as he threw down the sack of barley.
the woman obeyed with alacrity. the fire burned on the earthen floor in primitive style. erecting three sticks over it in the tripod form, she hung a pot therefrom, filled it with water, and awaited further orders. knowing her brother’s cast of mind well, she refrained from questioning, though she perceived from the peculiar cunning of his looks that something unusual occupied his mind. peegwish saw that wildcat’s curiosity was aroused, and resolved to keep it in that condition. he had learned the fact that beer was made from barley, and had resolved, thenceforth, to brew his own beer; but no hint of this did he permit to escape him. he even went to the other extreme, and became unusually communicative on subjects remote from beer. he told how that the people up the river were being frightened by the rise in the water; how he had met lambert and winklemann going to hunt wolves; how these nimrods had been obliged to change their minds and turn back for the purpose of looking after their property; and, in short, he wandered as far from the subject of beer and brewing as possible.
his reference to the rise of the river, however, turned wildcat’s thoughts to the fact that the ice in their immediate neighbourhood had been forced up in a manner that caused her some anxiety. she mentioned her fears to peegwish, but that worthy was too deeply immersed in his experiments just then to care much for anything else. to her remarks he merely replied by a solemn shake of the head and an owlish gaze into the big pot.
soon the water in the pot began to boil. peegwish put in a large proportion of barley, lighted his pipe, and sat down to await the result with the patience of a stoic. wildcat sat beside him with equal patience. an hour passed, peegwish dipped a wooden spoon into the pot and tasted. the result was not satisfactory—it burnt his lips. he let the spoonful cool, and tried again. the liquid was marvellously like barley-broth, with which delicacy he was well acquainted. another hour passed; again he dipped the spoon, and again met with disappointment, for his brew was not yet beer. the sun went down, the moon arose, the stars came out, and still peegwish and wildcat sat watching and dozing over the big pot.
at last the former bade the latter watch alone while he slept. he lay back where he sat and slumbered instantly. wildcat obeyed orders by heaping fresh logs on the fire and following suit. they snored in concert.
the night advanced; the uneasy grindings of the ice increased; the tinkling of a thousand snow-born rills filled the air with liquid melody. the sub-glacial murmuring of many waters filled many hearts with anxious care, and numerous households near the river’s brink sat up the live-long night to watch—perhaps to pray. intermittent cracking of the ice kept up the sound, as it were, of spattering musketry, and occasional loud reports were interspersed like the thunder of heavy guns.
at grey dawn peegwish awoke, looked slowly round, observed his sister asleep, and seized her by the nose. she awoke, rose hastily, and stirred the fire. an inspection of the big pot showed that its contents had become barley porridge. even peegwish’s imagination failed to regard it as beer. but peegwish had been somewhat sobered by his sleep. hearing the ominous sounds on the river he jumped up and ran outside. the sight that presented itself was sufficiently alarming. during the night the water had risen six feet, and the ice had been raised to a level with the floor of the indian’s hut. but this was not the worst. a short tongue of land just above the hut had up to that time formed a sort of breakwater to the dwelling. now, however, the ice had been forced quite over the barrier by the irresistible pressure behind, and even while he gazed a great wedge of ice, nearly five feet thick and several yards in length, was being reared up like a glittering obelisk, and forced slowly but surely down upon the hut.
peegwish had not recovered from his first surprise when the obelisk broke off by its own weight and fell in a mass of ruins, whilst the ice behind kept thrusting with terrible force towards him.
if peegwish was sluggish by nature his malady was evidently not incurable. he uttered a shout, and leaped back into his hut like a panther. his sister came out, gave one glance at the river, became wild-cattish for the first time in her life, and sprang after her brother.
a few seconds later and the pair reappeared, bearing some of their poor possessions to a place of safety higher up the bank. they returned for more, and in a very few minutes had the whole of their worldly wealth removed from their doomed edifice. then they sat down on the bank, and sadly watched the destruction of their home.
from their point of view they could see that the main body of ice on the river was still unbroken, and that it was merely a huge tongue, or needle, which had been thrust up at that point by the form of the land above referred to. the shattered masses were soon forced against the side of the hut. there was a slight pause and a creaking of timbers; then the ice slipped upwards and rose above the roof. more ice came down from above—slowly grinding. again there was a pause. the creaking timbers began to groan, the hut leaned gently over. one of the door-posts snapped, the other sloped inwards, the roof collapsed, the sides went in, the ice passed over all, and the hut of peegwish was finally obliterated from off the face of the earth. so, a giant with his foot might slowly and effectually crush the mansion of a snail!
