now it must not be imagined that old liz, after being carried away by the flood, submitted to her fate without a struggle. it was not in her nature to give in without good reason. she did not sit down and wring her hands, or tear her hair, or reproach her destiny, or relieve her feelings by venting them on the old couple under her charge. in short, she did not fall back in her distress on any of the refuges of the imbecile.
her first care was to arrange daddy and mrs winklemann in such a manner that they could sleep with some degree of comfort in their chairs. this she did by means of pillows and blankets, and, after accomplishing it, sat down on the wet bed to contemplate the pair. her satisfaction was soon marred, however, by the discovery that mrs winklemann was given to kicking in her sleep. in one of the spasmodic lunges with her lower limbs she gave daddy’s legs such a shake that the old gentleman was half awakened by the surprise.
it will be remembered that the pair were seated vis-à-vis in their respective arm-chairs, with a low table between them, and their legs resting thereon. to prevent a recurrence of the kick liz put a piece of broken plank between them on the table, and by means of a rope wound round legs and table, effectually restrained the unruly members.
she then returned to her place on the soaking truckle-bed, and, leaning her wet shoulders against the wall, endeavoured to think what was to be done when the return of day should enable her to act. to act was easy to liz, but thought was difficult. in attempting it she fell sound asleep. her shape helped her; she did not require to lie down. her head merely dropped on one of her fat shoulders. the rotundity of her frame rendered a collapse impossible. thus she slept and snored until daylight shone through the parchment windows—until daddy awoke her with a gasping cough.
“hough! hi! liz, there’s sumthin’ wrang wi’ my legs!”
“hoots! haud yer gab!” cried his polite daughter, leaping from her damp couch into the water, with no other evidence of feeling than a sharp “hech!” as the cold element laved her limbs. “there’s naethin’ wrang wi’ yer legs, only i’ve tied them to the table to keep them frae tum’lin’ aff.”
“mine boy, have he comin’ back?” asked mrs winklemann, who was awakened by the conversation.
“na; he’s no come back yet, but he’ll be here afore lang, nae doot. be quiet noo, like guid bairns. i canna let yer legs doon yet, for the floor’s dreedfu’ wat. there!” she added, casting loose the ropes and arranging the limbs more comfortably; “jist let them lie where they are, and i’ll gie ye yer brekfists in a meenit.”
she was as good as her word. in a few minutes the submissive pair were busy with bread and cheese, which, with a little cold water, was the only breakfast poor liz had to give them.
while the morning meal was being dispensed the anxious little woman thrust a bite or two into her own mouth, and ate as she moved about. then she told the old people she was “gauin’ up the lum to look aboot her.” without more ado she dipped into the fireplace and disappeared up the chimney.
her surprise on reaching this point of vantage was very great. the cottage was no longer driven over the bosom of a wide sea, but floated quietly in a calm basin surrounded by trees. during the night it had been carried far down in the direction of lake winnipeg, and had got entangled in one of the clumps of wood with which some parts of that region were studded. the hut had been so completely thrust into the copse that it was quite encompassed by foliage, and nothing of the surrounding country was visible from the chimney-top. the only thing that remained obvious to old liz was the fact that the hut still floated, and was held in position by a stout branch which had caught the roof.
we have said that thought—that is, profound or consecutive thought—was a trouble to old liz. her mind leaped in an interjectional, flashing manner. her actions were impulsive. a tall tree, a squirrel, and a bird’s-eye view flashed into her brain at the same moment. she desired the last, and proceeded to act like the second, by seizing a limb of the first, which hung conveniently at her elbow. but her emulation of the squirrel was not very successful, for, although a strong frame and powerful will are useful in climbing tall trees, petticoats, even when short, are against that operation. it is needless to say, however, that in the case of old liz difficulties were only met to be overcome. in five or ten minutes she stood with dishevelled hair, bleeding hands, and torn garments, among the topmost branches of the tall tree, and surveyed the world beneath with feelings of mingled surprise and dismay. there was evidently no abatement of the flood. on her left hand lay a boundless lake; on her right there spread out a little archipelago of trees and bushes. while she gazed her eye was arrested by two dark specks on the horizon. could they be boats? yes; they moved! clearly they must be either boats or canoes.
one of the old woman’s intellectual flashes occurred at this point. there was a fishing-rod in the hut below, a primitive one, such as adam might have used in eden—the branch of a tree.
down came old liz, much faster than she went up; slipping, scratching, rending, grasping, and clutching, until she gained the chimney, down which she went unceremoniously, alighting as formerly, with a squash which not only alarmed but besprinkled the old couple.
liz caught up the rod, tied an apron to it, and then, using it as a lance, charged the fireplace. it stuck, of course, but liz was in no mood to be baffled. she bent the rod powerfully and forced it up. following it, she emerged from the chimney, and, with a spirit worthy of excelsior, bore her banner to the tall tree-top, and fastened it to the topmost bough with the last remnant of her torn neckerchief.
it was in the morning of the day about which we now write, that victor ravenshaw and his friends arrived at the settlement. we have said that michel rollin set off alone in a canoe in search of his mother the moment he obtained sufficient information to enable him to act. at first he paddled wildly over the watery plain, as if mere exertion of muscle would accomplish his end, but soon he began to consider that without giving definite direction to his energies he could not hope for success. he therefore made straight for the mission station, where he found mr cockran’s family and people encamped on the stage, the minister himself being away in his canoe visiting some of his scattered flock, and offering them such comfort as only those can who truly trust in christ. here he was advised to go to the mountain, to which place it was probable his mother and grandfather would have been conveyed if picked up by any passing boat or canoe.
deciding to do so, he paddled away at once with diminishing hopes and a heavy heart, for the evidences of total destruction around him were terribly real. he had not gone far when a canoe appeared on the horizon. there was one figure in it. as it drew near the figure seemed familiar. nearer still, and he recognised it.
“vinklemann!”
“michel!”
the friends arrested their canoes by grasping hands.
“i seek for ma mère,” said the half-breed.
“i for mine moder,” returned the german.
a hurried consultation ensued. it was of no use going to the mountain. winklemann had just come from it, having failed to find his mother. he was still suffering from the effects of his recent accident, but he could not wait. he would continue the search till he died. rollin was of the same mind, though neither he nor his friend appeared likely to die soon. they resolved to continue the search together.
both of them were thoroughly acquainted with the red river plains in all directions, but rollin was more versed in the action of water. the greater part of his boyhood had been spent in canoeing and hunting expeditions with his father, from whom he inherited the french tongue and manners which showed so much more powerfully than the scotch element in his composition. after his father’s death he had consorted and hunted much with peegwish, who spoke indian and french, but remarkably little english. peegwish was also a splendid canoe-man, so that rollin had come to study with great intelligence the flow and effect of currents of water, whether deep or shallow, narrow or broad. hence when winklemann related circumstantially all he had done, he shook his head and gave it as his opinion that he had not gone the right way to work at all, and that, according to the lie of the land and the height of the flood, it was certain the hut must have been carried far below that part of the settlement in the direction of the lower fort.
poor winklemann was so worn out with unsuccessful searching that he was only too glad to follow wherever michel rollin chose to lead. hence it came to pass that in the afternoon of the same day the searchers came in view of the tall tree where old liz had hoisted her flag of distress.
“voilà!” exclaimed michel, on first catching sight of the ensign.
“vat is dat?” said his companion, paddling closer alongside of his friend, and speaking in a hoarse whisper.
“it look like a flag,” said rollin, pushing on with increased vigour. “there’s something like one crow below it,” he added, after a short time.
“it have stranch voice for von crow,” said the german.
he was right. the yell of triumphant joy uttered by old liz when she saw that her signal had been observed was beyond the imitative powers of any crow. as the poor creature waved her free arm, and continued to shout, while her loose hair tossed wildly round her sooty face, she presented a spectacle that might well have caused alarm not unmixed with awe even in a manly breast; but there was a certain tone in the shouts which sent a sudden thrill to the heart of rollin, causing him, strange to say, to think of lullabies and infant days! with eyeballs fixed on the tree-top, open-mouthed and breathing quick, he paddled swiftly on.
“michel,” said winklemann, in a whisper, even hoarser than before, “your moder!”
rollin replied not, but gave a stentorian roar, that rolled grandly over the water.
why was it that old liz suddenly ceased her gesticulations, lifted her black brows in unutterable surprise, opened her mouth, and became a listening statue? did she too recognise tones which recalled other days—and the puling cries of infancy? it might have been so. certain it is that when the shout was repeated she broke down in an effort to reply, and burst into mingled laughter and tears, at the same time waving her free arm more violently than ever.
this was too much for the branch on which she had been performing. it gave way, and old liz suddenly came down, as sailors have it, “by the run.” she crashed through the smaller branches of the tree-top, which happily broke her fall, bounded from mass to mass of the thicker foliage below, and finally came down on a massive bough which, shunting her clear of the tree altogether, and clear of the hut as well, sent her headlong into the water.
with something like frozen blood and marrow, michel witnessed the fall. a few seconds more and his canoe went crashing through the leafy screen that hid the hut. old liz was up and floundering about like a black seal, or mermaid. she could not swim, but, owing to some peculiarity of her remarkable frame, she could not sink. her son was at her side in a moment, seized her, and tried to kiss her. in his eagerness the canoe overturned, and he fell into her arms and the water at the same time.
it was a joyful though awkward meeting. much water could not quench the love wherewith the poor creature strained michel to her heart. winklemann came up in time to rescue both, and dragged them to the door-step of the floating hut, the door of which he burst open with a single kick, and sprang in.
who shall attempt to describe the meeting that followed? we ask the question because we feel unequal to the task. there issued from the hut a roll of german gutturals. winklemann, rushing through two feet of water, seized his mother’s hand and fell on his knees beside her. he was thus, of course, submerged to the waist; but he recked not—not he! michel and old liz entered, dripping like water-nymphs, and sat down on the soppy bed. daddy, impressed with the idea that a good practical joke was being enacted, smiled benignantly like a guardian angel.
“now den, zee night draws on. ve must be gone,” said winklemann, turning to rollin; “git zee canoes ready—qveek!”
both canoes were soon got ready; blankets and pillows were spread in the centre of each. mrs winklemann was lifted carefully into one; daddy, as carefully, into the other. old liz quietly took her seat in the bow of daddy’s canoe; her son sat down in the stern, while herr winklemann took charge of that which contained his mother.
“no room to take any of de property to-night, ma mère,” said michel.
“hoots! niver heed,” replied liz.
“no, i vill not heed. moreover, veenklemann and moi ve vill retoorn demorrow.”
as he spoke he chanced to look up and saw the apron which had guided him to the spot waving gently at the tree-top. in a few seconds he was beside it. cutting the staff free, he descended and stuck it in the bow of his canoe as a trophy. thus they paddled away from the old home.
it was night when they reached the camp of the settlers on the little mountain. the homeless people were busy with their evening meal, and, sad though their case was, the aspect of things just then did not convey the idea of distress. the weather was fine; camp-fires blazed cheerfully lighting up bronzed and swarthy men, comely women, and healthy children, with a ruddy glow, while merry laughter now and then rose above the general hum, for children care little for unfelt distress, and grown people easily forget it in present comfort. ruined though they were, many of them felt only the warmth of the hour.
there was a shout of welcome when winklemann’s canoe was observed emerging from surrounding darkness, and a cheer burst from those who first heard the glad news—“the old folk saved!” but that was a mere chirp to the roar of congratulation that rang out when the little party landed, and the rescuers strode into camp bearing the rescued in their arms.
