The Rain Cloud / or, An Account of the Nature, Properties, Dangers and Uses of Rain in Various Parts of the World

by Charles Tomlinson

Some people went on horseback to try to procure boats. They managed to get on some way by keeping the line of road. The water was so deep that the horses were frequently swimming; but at length the current became so strong that they were compelled to seek the rising grounds. Dr. Brands attempted to reach the bridge of Findhorn, in hopes of getting one of the fishermen’s cobbles. As he was approaching the bridge he learned that the last of the three arches had fallen the instant before; and when he got to the brink, the waters were sweeping on as if it had never been, making the rocks and houses vibrate with a distinct and tremulous motion. The current was playing principally against the southern approach of the bridge, and soon the usually dry arch, at its further end, burst with a loud report; its fragments, mixed with water, being blown into the air as if by gunpowder. The boats had all been swept away, and the fishermen’s houses were already one mass of ruin. The centre of the main stream was hurried on at an elevation many feet higher than the rest of the surrounding sea of waters; the mighty rush of which displayed its power in the ruin it

occasioned. Magnificent trees, with all their branches, were dashing and rending against the rock, and the roaring and crashing sound that prevailed was absolutely deafening.

As there was no chance of getting a boat the Doctor returned with difficulty to the house, his mare swimming a great part of the way. On again looking through the telescope at poor Kerr and his family, they were seen huddled together on a spot of ground a few feet square, some forty or fifty yards below their inundated dwelling. [55] He was sometimes standing and sometimes sitting on a small cask, and, as the beholders fancied, watching with intense anxiety the progress of the flood, and trembling for every large tree that it brought sweeping past them. His wife, covered with a blanket, sat shivering on a bit of a log, one child in her lap, and a girl of about seventeen, and a boy of about twelve years of age, leaning against her side. A bottle and a glass on the ground near the man gave the spectators, as it had doubtless given him, some degree of comfort. Above a score of sheep were standing around, or wading, or swimming in the

shallows. Three cows and a small horse picking at a broken rick of straw that seemed to be half afloat, were also grouped with the family. Dreading that they must all be swept off, if not soon relieved, the gentlemen hastened to the offices, and looked anxiously out from the top of the tower for a boat. At last they had the satisfaction to see one launched from the garden at Earnhill, about a mile below. The boat had been conveyed by a pair of horses, and had only just arrived. It was nobly manned by three volunteers, and they proceeded at once to the rescue of a family who were in a most perilous situation in the island opposite to Earnhill. The gentlemen on the tower watched the motions of this boat with the liveliest interest. They saw it tugging up till it was hid from them by the wood. Again it was seen beyond, and soon it dashed into the main stream and disappeared again behind the wood, with a velocity so fearful that they concluded it was lost. But in a moment it again showed itself, and the brave fellows were seen plying their oars across the submerged island of Earnhill, making for John Smith’s cottage; the thatch and a small part of the side walls of which were

visible above the water. The poor inmates were dragged out of the windows from under the water, having been obliged to duck within ere they could effect their escape. The boat then swept down the stream towards a place called ‘The Lakes,’ where John Smith, his wife, and her mother were safely landed.

The boat was next conveyed by the horses to a point from which it was launched for the rescue of the Kerrs. Having pulled up as far as they could in the still water, they approached the desperate current, and fearlessly dashed into its tumultuous waves. For a moment the spectators were in the most anxious doubt as to the result; for, though none could pull a stronger oar, yet the boat in crossing a distance equal to its own length was swept down 200 yards. Ten yards more would have dashed them to atoms on the lower stone wall. But they were now in comparatively quiet water; and availing themselves of this, they pulled up again to the park, in the space between two currents, and passed, with a little less difficulty, though in the same manner, the second and third streams, and at length reached the houses. The spectators gave them three hearty cheers.

By this time the Kerrs had been left scarcely three feet of ground to stand on, under the back wall of the houses. A pleasing sight it was to see the boat touch that tiny strand, and the despairing family taken on board. How anxiously did the spectators watch every motion of the little boat, that was now so crowded as very much to impede the rowers. They crossed the first two streams, and finally drew up for the last and dreadful trial. There the frail bark was again whirled down; and notwithstanding all their exertions, the stern just touched the wall. The prow however was in stiller water; one desperate pull,—she sprang forward in safety, and a few more strokes of the oar landed the poor people amongst fifty or sixty of their assembled friends. After mutual greetings and embraces, and many tears of gratitude, old Kerr related his simple story. “Seeing their retreat cut off by the flood, they attempted to wade ashore. But the nearer the shore, the deeper and more powerful was the current. The moment was awful. The torrent increased on all sides, and night, dark night, was spread over them. The stream began to be too deep for the niece, a girl of twelve years of age,—she lost heart and began to

sink. At this alarming crisis Kerr seized the trembling girl, and placed her on his back, and shoulder to shoulder with his wife, he providentially, but with the greatest difficulty, regained his own house. Between eight and nine o’clock he groped his way, and led his wife and niece up into the garret. He could not tell how long they remained there, but supposed it might be till about two o’clock next morning, when the roof began to fail. To avoid being crushed to death, he worked anxiously till he drove down the partition separating them from the adjoining house. Fortunately for him it was composed of wood and clay, and a partial failure he found in it very much facilitated his operations. Having made their way good, they remained there till about eight o’clock in the morning, when the strength of the water without became so great that it bent inwards the bolt of the lock of the house-door, till it had no greater hold of the staple than the eighth-part of an inch. Aware, that if the door should give way the back wall of the house would be swept down by the rush of the water inwards, and that they would be crushed to atoms, he rummaged the garret and fortunately found a bit of board and a few nails;

and standing on the stairs, he placed one end of it against the door and the other on the hatch, forming the entrance to the garret, and so nailed it firmly down. At last the roof of the second house began to crack over their heads, and Kerr forced a way for himself and his companions through the thatch as has been already told.”