It was while Winklemann was busily engaged on the stage that the storm broke forth which compelled the clergyman to spend the night on the islet, as already described. Of course the storm also forced Winklemann to remain at the station. But that impulsive youth’s regard for his “moder” would not permit of his giving in without a struggle. When he saw that the gale increased rapidly, he resolved to start off without delay. He launched his canoe; a half-breed in his employment managed the bow paddle, but they found that their united strength was insufficient to drive the craft more than a hundred yards against wind and waves. Returning to the station, Winklemann engaged two additional men to aid him, but the increasing gale neutralised the extra force. After a vain struggle the canoe was hurled back on the knoll, a wave caught the bow, overturned it, and threw the men into the water at the very door of the parsonage.
The canoe was partially broken. Time was required to repair it. Time also gave the gale opportunity to gather power, and thus the chafing German was compelled to spend the night at the station.
Meanwhile, those men whom he had left behind him spent a terrible night, but the brunt of the trouble fell upon old Liz.
Poor old Liz! She was a squat piece of indomitable energy, utterly regardless of herself and earnestly solicitous about every one else.
When the storm commenced, her dwelling had begun to show symptoms of instability. This fact she carefully concealed from Daddy and old Mrs Winklemann, who remained in their respective chairs smiling at each other, for both were accustomed to good treatment from their children, and regarded life in general from a sunny point of view. They knew that something very unusual was going on, but the old frau said—or thought—to herself, “My boy will look after me!” while Daddy said, or thought, “Liz knows all about it.” Happy trustful spirits! Enviable pair!
Having informed the pair that she was going away for a minute or two to look after something outside, old Liz left them. She found herself up to the knees in water, of course, the moment she passed the doorway. From an outhouse she procured a strong rope. This she fastened to a large iron ring in the side of the hut, and attached the other end to a thick tree whose branches overshadowed it. Even during the brief time she was thus engaged the flood increased so rapidly, and the rising wind blew so wildly, that the poor creature was almost carried off her short legs. But old Liz had a powerful will, and was strong-hearted. Having accomplished her object, and lost for ever her frilled cap in so doing, she struggled back towards the door of the hut. A passing billet of firewood tripped her up and sent her headlong into the flood. She disappeared, but emerged instantly, with glaring eyes, gasping mouth, and streaming hair. A resolute rush brought her to the door-step; she seized the door-post, and was saved.
“Hech! but it’s an awfu’ time,” gasped old Liz, as she wrung the water from her garments.—“Comin’, Daddy! I’ll be their this meenit. I’ve gotten mysel’ a wee wat.”
“What’s wrang?” asked Daddy, in a feeble voice, as his ancient daughter entered.
“It’s only a bit spate, Daddy. The hoose is a’maist soomin’, but ye’ve nae need to fear.”
“I’m no’ feared, Liz. What wad I be feared o’ whan ye’re there?”