The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood

by R. M. Ballantyne

Without waiting for a rejoinder the stout German hurried on, and was soon lost to view among the bushes. Ravenshaw followed him shortly afterwards, and found old Liz arranging and piling away the belongings of Winklemann, who, after depositing the arm-chair by the side of the fire opposite the corner occupied by Daddy, had returned to his doomed house for more. Anxious to know in what condition his friend’s house was, the old gentleman took the road to it. The house of old Liz, as we have said, stood high, and well back from the river. It had been made a place of refuge by the nearest neighbours, and was not only filled but surrounded by goods and furniture, as well as live stock. A dense mass of willow bushes, by which the little hut was surrounded, completely shut out the view all round, except backward, in the direction of the prairie, so that Ravenshaw did not come in sight of the spot where the flood had already commenced its work of destruction until he had traversed a footpath for nearly a quarter of a mile. Many wet and weary settlers passed him, however, with their possessions on their backs, and here and there groups of women and children, to all of whom he gave a cheering word of hope and encouragement.

On clearing the bushes the full extent of desolation was presented to view. The river here had overflowed its banks, so that a large part of the country wore the aspect of a lake. Knolls and slight eminences, which in happier times had been scarcely observable, now stood boldly out as conspicuous islets, while many farmhouses were either partly submerged or stood on the margin of the rising waters which beat against them. There was a strong current in some places, elsewhere it was calm; but the river itself was clearly traceable by the turmoil of crashing ice and surging water which marked its course. Men and women were seen everywhere—in the water and out of it—loading carts or barrows with their property, and old people, with children, looked on and shivered, for the thermometer had fallen to five degrees below the freezing-point of Fahrenheit’s scale, as indicated by the thermometer at the parsonage. The sleet had ceased, and the wind had fallen, but dark masses of clouds hurried athwart the lowering sky, and the dreary character of the scene was heightened by the poor cattle, which, being turned out of their warm places of shelter, stood on knolls or in the water and lowed piteously.

One of the most conspicuous objects of the scene, from Ravenshaw’s point of view, was poor Winklemann’s house—a small one which stood on a low spot already surrounded by water. In front of it was Winklemann himself, wading through the flood, without coat or hat, and carrying a large bundle in his arms.

“What have you got there?” asked Ravenshaw, as German went staggering past.

“Mine moder,” he replied, and hurried on.

Herr Winklemann had a mother—as old as the hills, according to his own report, and any one who beheld her feeble frame and wrinkled visage might well have believed him. With tender regard for her welfare her stout son had refrained from removing or even alarming her until the last moment, partly from fear that fright and the removal might do her serious injury, and partly from the hope that the flood had reached its highest point; but when the danger to his dwelling became great he resolved to carry her to the hut of old Liz, and, as a preliminary step, had removed her old arm-chair, as we have seen, to be ready for her reception. On returning to the house, however, he found that a portion of the river bank above had unexpectedly given way, diverging the flood a little in that part, so that his dwelling was already a foot deep in water. The old woman, however, lay safely on the bed where Winklemann had placed her, and was either unconscious of, or indifferent to what was going on. She did indeed look a little surprised when her son wrapped the blanket, on which she lay, completely round her, and took her up in his arms as if she had been a little child, but the look of surprise melted into a humorous smile as he drew the last fold over her face. She clearly believed it to be one of her dear boy’s little practical jokes, and submitted without a murmur.

Staggering through the flood with her, as we have said, Winklemann carried her to the cottage of old Liz, who received her with tender care, helped to place her in the big chair, and remembering Daddy’s tendency to fall into the fire, tied her securely therein.

Meanwhile Winklemann ran back to his house, where he found Mr Ravenshaw and Louis Lambert assisting several men to secure it on its foundations by tying it with ropes to the nearest trees.

Joining these, he lent his powerful aid; but a power greater than his was at work, which could not be resisted. Not only did the water rise at an alarming rate and rush against the house with tremendous violence, but great cakes of ice bore down on it and struck it with such force as to make every timber tremble. Like all the other houses of the settlement, it was built entirely of wood, and had no other foundation than the levelled ground on which its framework stood.

When the water rose considerably above his knees, and ice-floes threatened to sweep him away, Mr Ravenshaw thought it was time for an elderly gentleman to retire. The others continued for some time longer securing the ropes and, with poles, turning aside the ice; but ere long they also were driven to the higher ground, and compelled to stand idly by and watch the work of destruction.