In the Van; or, The Builders

by John Price-Brown

"Yes, if the rubbish can be cleared out of the way."

"Emmiline and I will see to that."

Then Bateese and the soldiers brought over what was personal for Helen's cottage; while she, her faithful Emmiline and Harold, did the rest.

In the preparations of the officers' house progress had been slower, but as it was evident that rain would be upon them heavily by night, the energies of the men were taxed to their utmost. Bit by bit the place was put in order, and load after load of goods were brought in and piled at random even before the roof was closed in.

"The shingling must be finished, no matter how it rains," cried Captain Payne, "and every man shall have an extra ration of grog when it is done. The officers will occupy this house to-night, no matter what happens."

The promise of extra liquor, for all were wet, stimulated to greater exertion, and valiantly the men obeyed orders. By night rain came down in torrents. Though drenched to the skin, the shinglers continued their work until the last one was laid, and beneath the sheltering roof of their new cottage Sir George and his officers gathered together before the night closed in.

Still, the walls of the barracks were only partly up, and for that night the men, notwithstanding the rain, were obliged to return to their old quarters. So with the women in the Bumble Bee, Harold and Helen in their new cottage, the officers in their house, and the men in their old camp, the night wore on.

By-and-bye the east wind veered to the south. With warmer air and rain the snow and ice melted rapidly away. But toward morning another change came. The wind swept to the west and increased to a hurricane; savagely the frozen surface of the bay broke up, toppling huge waves over each other in fury, and forcing the ice blocks out to the freer space along the eastern shore. So mad was the wind, so wild the elements, bursting free from the icy grip of winter—that the lake at Beausoliel tossed mountains high in a white-capped sea of foam. The trouble, however, was not in the distance, but at hand.

During the earlier hours of the night, tired out by their day's work, the men slept soundly, notwithstanding the tempest. The pine-needle padding of the roofs of the camp in some measure protected the bunks from leakage; and, as the soldier heeds not the storm, save when summoned to duty, on they slept. By-and-bye the wind increased in savage fury. Stakes loosened, camp poles swayed, and at the earliest dawn the sentry sounded the alarm. But it was none too soon. The men had scarcely time to spring to their feet and don their jackets before the crash came. There were oaths and yells and confusion; clashing of timbers and popping of heads through the debris; while not a few derisive laughs rang out above the sound of the screeching wind.

"What a devilish row!" cried Corporal Bond to Hardman, as they fell over each other in making their exit. "A complete flattener. Pray God, none o' the boys are killed."