The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood by R. M. Ballantyne (sight word books txt) 📕

In a previous chapter it has been told how the long hard winter of that year, (1826), had passed away, after an unwontedly severe tussle with the spring. The prophets of the land now began to hold up their heads and look owlishly wise, for their predictions were evidently about to be fulfilled.

Had not old Sam Ravenshaw said all through the winter that “something would come of it”? Was it not the daily remark of Angus Macdonald that such a state of things, “could not go on for ever—whatever”? Had not Peegwish glared prophecy with a degree of solemnity that rendered words not only impossible, but unnecessary? and had not Miss Trim asserted that dreadful consequences of some sort were sure to follow?

Dreadful consequences did follow, and they began with a fine warm day. For a considerable time the fields of snow had been subjected to the influence of the blazing sun, and had been greatly diminished in depth. The day in question, however, was so very warm that Louis Lambert was induced to take his horse and gun with a view to wolf-hunting on the plains. The hard crust formed on the snow’s surface by the partial meltings of early spring is sufficiently strong to bear the weight of a wolf, but will not support a horse. Wolves, therefore, roam about with ease and at will at that period, while horses are obliged to keep to beaten tracks. When, however, the thaws set in, the case is reversed. The wolf, with his short limbs, flounders laboriously in the drifts of soft snow, while the horse, with his long and powerful legs, can gallop in spite of these. Thus wolf-hunting becomes, for a time, possible.

Louis Lambert was fond of the chase. He was also fond of courting, and, resolving to combine the two, galloped away to the abode of old Ravenshaw. He had been there so often of late that he felt half ashamed of this early morning visit. Lovers easily find excuses for visits. He resolved to ask if Herr Winklemann had been seen passing that morning, as he wished his companionship on the plains—the shallow deceiver!

“Good-morning, Cora,” he said, on entering the hall.

Elsie, who stood at the window with her back to the door, turned quickly round.

“Oh, I beg pardon,” he said, with a slightly confused air; “I thought you were Cora, and—”

“Well,” interrupted Elsie, with a hurt look that accorded ill with a twinkle in her eyes; “I think you might know the difference between me and Cora by this time, though you only saw my back.”

“Ah, Elsie!” returned the youth, as he shook hands, “you ought in fairness to make allowance for the effects of spring. You know full well that the glare of the sun on the snow half blinds a fellow, so that even when, when—”

“Come, now, don’t search about in your empty brain for one of your unmeaning compliments, but say at once what brings you here at so early an hour. Has a war party of Sioux come down on us, or is the river about to break up?”

“War-parties of Sioux are no doubt prowling about the plains somewhere,” returned Lambert, with a smile, “and the ice will go soon if this heat continues; but neither of these things brought me here. The truth is, I came to ask if Winklemann has been seen to pass your windows this morning?”

“The truth?” repeated Elsie, with a searching look.

“Well,” replied the youth, with a laugh, “I came also to see you and—and—Cora.”

“And father also, I suppose?”

“Why, Elsie, you are unusually sharp this morning; but I really do wish to know if Winklemann has been seen, because he had left home when I passed his house, and I want him to hunt with me.”

“Then I may tell you that he passed our window not ten minutes before your arrival, going in the direction of the Lower Fort. He rides fast, as you know, so if you would catch him up you must follow quickly.”

The young man stood for a moment undecided, then, perceiving that Elsie gave him no encouragement to remain, he bade her adieu and rode away.

“Louis is remarkably fond of coming here,” said Elsie to Cora, who entered the room a few minutes later, “but he did not come to see us this morning. He only came to ask after Herr Winklemann.”

Cora laughed, but gave no further evidence of the state of her mind.

Just then Peegwish the Indian entered. He walked towards the sisters with that solemn dignity of manner peculiar to the North American savage, but the intensified solemnity of his looks and a certain unsteadiness in his gait rather marred the dignity.

“Peegwish,” said Elsie, going towards him with a grieved look, “you have been drinking beer again.”

The Indian protested, in very bad English, that he had not tasted beer since the previous Christmas; whereupon Elsie proceeded to administer an earnest reproof to the muddled hypocrite, for she was really anxious to save him from the destruction which had already overtaken many of his red brethren through the baleful influence of fire-water; but Peegwish was just then in no condition to appreciate her remarks. To all she said his only reply was that he wanted “bally.”

“You want bally?” returned Elsie, with a puzzled look.

“Yis—bally,” he repeated, and a gleam of indescribable slyness broke like a sunbeam on his solemn visage as he said it.

“What can he mean by bally, Cora?”

“Perhaps he means barley.”

“Ho!” exclaimed the Indian, with emphasis, by which he meant, “You’re right.”

But Elsie had no barley to give him. She tried to find out what he wanted to do with the barley, but Peegwish was not communicative. The gleam of cunning faded from his mahogany countenance, and he relapsed into a state of impenetrable wisdom, in which condition he retired, and betook himself to the upper part of the settlement, near Fort Garry, in quest of “bally.” Here he found the people in a state of considerable excitement owing to the sudden and unusual rise of the river.

At Fort Garry the Assinaboine River joins the Red River, and flows with it into Lake Winnipeg. At the period of which we write, (the month of May), both rivers were yet covered with the icy garment—between four and five feet thick—under which they had gone to rest five or six months before. The vast accumulation of snow which had fallen that winter was melted so fast that the Red River had risen with terrible rapidity, and it was obvious, from the ominous complainings of the “thick-ribbed ice,” that a burst-up of unwonted violence was impending. The strength of the ice, however, was so great that it rose with the swelling waters without breaking until nearly on a level with the top of the river banks. In some places, where the banks were low, the pent-up floods broke forth and swamped the land, but as yet little damage had been done.

Of course the alarm of the settlers was considerable. Rumours of former floods which had devastated the surrounding plains were rife,