Under the Redwoods. Bret Harte
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by a faint crashing and crackling sound, and looking up, beheld a good-sized boulder, evidently detached from some greater height, strike the upland plateau at the left of the trail and bound into the fringe of forest beside it. A slight cloud of dust marked its course, and then lazily floated away in mid air. But it had been watched agitatedly, and it was evident that that singular loss of nervous balance which is apt to affect all those who go through the slightest earthquake experience was felt by all. But some sense of humor, however, remained.
“Looks as if the water risks we took ain’t goin’ to cover earthquakes,” drawled Dick Frisney; “still that wasn’t a bad shot, if we only knew what they were aiming at.”
“Do be quiet,” said Virginia Piper, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Listen, can’t you? What’s that funny murmuring you hear now and then up there?”
“It’s only the snow-wind playin’ with the pines on the summit. You girls won’t allow anybody any fun but yourselves.”
But here a scream from “Georgy,” who, assisted by Captain Fairfax, had mounted a camp-stool at the mouth of the valley, attracted everybody’s attention. She was standing upright, with dilated eyes, staring at the top of the trail. “Look!” she said excitedly, “if the trail isn’t moving!”
Everybody faced in that direction. At the first glance it seemed indeed as if the trail was actually moving; wriggling and undulating its tortuous way down the mountain like a huge snake, only swollen to twice its usual size. But the second glance showed it to be no longer a trail but a channel of water, whose stream, lifted in a bore-like wall four or five feet high, was plunging down into the devoted valley.
For an instant they were unable to comprehend even the nature of the catastrophe. The reservoir was directly over their heads; the bursting of its wall they had imagined would naturally bring down the water in a dozen trickling streams or falls over the cliff above them and along the flanks of the mountain. But that its suddenly liberated volume should overflow the upland beyond and then descend in a pent-up flood by their own trail and their only avenue of escape, had been beyond their wildest fancy.
They met this smiting truth with that characteristic short laugh with which the American usually receives the blow of Fate or the unexpected—as if he recognized only the absurdity of the situation. Then they ran to the women, collected them together, and dragged them to vantages of fancied security among the bushes which flounced the long skirts of the mountain walls. But I leave this part of the description to the characteristic language of one of the party:—
“When the flood struck us, it did not seem to take any stock of us in particular, but laid itself out to ‘go for’ that picnic for all it was worth! It wiped it off the face of the earth in about twenty-five seconds! It first made a clean break from stem to stern, carrying everything along with it. The first thing I saw was old Judge Piper, puttin’ on his best licks to get away from a big can of strawberry ice cream that was trundling after him and trying to empty itself on his collar, whenever a bigger wave lifted it. He was followed by what was left of the brass band; the big drum just humpin’ itself to keep abreast o’ the ice cream, mixed up with camp-stools, music-stands, a few Chinamen, and then what they call in them big San Francisco processions ‘citizens generally.’ The hull thing swept up the canyon inside o’ thirty seconds. Then, what Captain Fairfax called ‘the reflex action in the laws o’ motion’ happened, and darned if the hull blamed procession didn’t sweep back again—this time all the heavy artillery, such as camp-kettles, lager beer kegs, bottles, glasses, and crockery that was left behind takin’ the lead now, and Judge Piper and that ice cream can bringin’ up the rear. As the jedge passed us the second time, we noticed that that ice cream can—hevin’ swallowed water—was kinder losing its wind, and we encouraged the old man by shoutin’ out, ‘Five to one on him!’ And then, you wouldn’t believe what followed. Why, darn my skin, when that ‘reflex’ met the current at the other end, it just swirled around again in what Captain Fairfax called the ‘centrifugal curve,’ and just went round and round the canyon like ez when yer washin’ the dirt out o’ a prospectin’ pan—every now and then washin’ some one of the boys that was in it, like scum, up ag’in the banks.
“We managed in this way to snake out the judge, jest ez he was sailin’ round on the home stretch, passin’ the quarter post two lengths ahead o’ the can. A good deal o’ the ice cream had washed away, but it took us ten minutes to shake the cracked ice and powdered salt out o’ the old man’s clothes, and warm him up again in the laurel bush where he was clinging. This sort o’ ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush’ kep’ on until most o’ the humans was got out, and only the furniture o’ the picnic was left in the race. Then it got kinder mixed up, and went sloshin’ round here and there, ez the water kep’ comin’ down by the trail. Then Lulu Piper, what I was holdin’ up all the time in a laurel bush, gets an idea, for all she was wet and draggled; and ez the things went bobbin’ round, she calls out the figures o’ a cotillon to ‘em. ‘Two camp-stools forward.’ ‘Sashay and back to your places.’ ‘Change partners.’ ‘Hands all round.’
“She was clear grit, you bet! And the joke caught on and the other girls jined in, and it kinder cheered ‘em, for they was wantin’ it. Then Fludder allowed to pacify ‘em by sayin’ he just figured up the size o’ the reservoir and the size o’ the canyon, and he kalkilated that the cube was about ekal, and the canyon couldn’t flood any more. And then Lulu—who was peart as a jay and couldn’t be fooled—speaks up and says, ‘What’s the matter with the ditch, Dick?’
“Lord! then we knew that she knew the worst; for of course all the water in the ditch itself—fifty miles of it!—was drainin’ now into that reservoir and was bound to come down to the canyon.”
It was at this point that the situation became really desperate, for they had now crawled up the steep sides as far as the bushes afforded foothold, and the water was still rising. The chatter of the girls ceased, there were long silences, in which the men discussed the wildest plans, and proposed to tear their shirts into strips to make ropes to support the girls by sticks driven into the mountain side. It was in one of those intervals that the distinct strokes of a woodman’s axe were heard high on the upland at the point where the trail descended to the canyon. Every ear was alert, but only those on one side of the canyon could get a fair view of the spot. This was the good fortune of Captain Fairfax and Georgy Piper, who had climbed to the highest bush on that side, and were now standing up, gazing excitedly in that direction.
“Some one is cutting down a tree at the head of the trail,” shouted Fairfax. The response and joyful explanation, “for a dam across the trail,” was on everybody’s lips at the same time.
But the strokes of the axe were slow and painfully intermittent. Impatience burst out.
“Yell to him to hurry up! Why haven’t they brought two men?”
“It’s only one man,” shouted the captain, “and he seems to be a cripple. By Jiminy!—it is—yes!—it’s Tom Sparrell!”
There was a dead silence. Then, I grieve to say, shame and its twin brother rage took possession of their weak humanity. Oh, yes! It was all of a piece! Why in the name of Folly hadn’t he sent for an able-bodied man. Were they to be drowned through his cranky obstinacy?
The blows still went on slowly. Presently, however, they seemed to alternate with other blows—but alas! they were slower, and if possible feebler!
“Have they got another cripple to work?” roared the Contingent in one furious voice.
“No—it’s a woman—a little one—yes! a girl. Hello! Why, sure as you live, it’s Delaware!”
A spontaneous cheer burst from the Contingent, partly as a rebuke to Sparrell, I think, partly from some shame over their previous rage. He could take it as he liked.
Still the blows went on distressingly slow. The girls were hoisted on the men’s shoulders; the men were half submerged. Then there was a painful pause; then a crumbling crash. Another cheer went up from the canyon.
“It’s down! straight across the trail,” shouted Fairfax, “and a part of the bank on the top of it.”
There