As this thrilling cry rang through the settlement, supplemented by the wild peals of the alarm bell in the block house, all the inmates of David Armstrong’s cabin were on their feet.
Sleep had been banished as if by magic; indeed, the boys had never felt more wide-awake in all their lives. And there was plenty to do, as well as willing hands with which to accomplish the labor.
Fortunate indeed did it prove that everybody had anticipated this sudden necessity, and that the scanty household goods, some of them precious only through their associations with that Virginia of the past, had been so packed that they could be carried to higher ground, and a place of safety, in a very brief time.
Indeed, so rapidly was the water coming up now, that, by the time the last piece had been taken from the Armstrong cabin it commenced to trickle over the door-sill. Bob’s last visit was made with more or less splashing, as he strode around the familiar interior, now looking so strange with the floor covered by the flood.
Some of the settlers, Mr. Armstrong among them, had made use of the strongest ropes they could obtain, to tie their cabins to convenient trees, hoping that in this way they might add to their security. When the strength of the current and the hulk of those log cabins was taken into consideration, however, this hope did not have a great deal to rest upon.
There now seemed nothing left to do but cluster there beyond the edge of the river, and take note of its constant rise. All whose cabins were in danger had saved their goods, and in this considered themselves lucky. New cabins could of course be built, since there was wood in plenty, and stout arms to swing the axe; but these family possessions could never have been replaced.
There was one little consolation, slender though it might appear; the clouds had finally broken, and the stars were shining. It seemed almost as though the myriad bright eyes of heaven were peeping out, to see the extent of the damage and woe that had been wrought.
Unable to stand quiet and watch the raging waters creep up around the walls of their late home, the Armstrong boys joined the group not far away. Fires had been lighted, and the glow of these added to the weirdness of the scene, as the settlers moved to and fro, comparing notes, trying to find comfort in their mutual troubles, and seizing on the slightest grain of hope afforded by reports that the crest of the rise must surely have come, after which the waters would go down again.
“What is Pat O’Mara talking so fiercely about?” asked Bob, as he joined the group, after having been off to see how things were getting on in the direction of the river; and Sandy, who had remained where most of the homeless families had congregated, turned with a frown on his face.
“It is about those miserable French trappers,” he replied.