The flame-light danced in many a flash and splash over the smooth
surface of the face of the inland pond. Indeed it reflected like a glass at
present, for no wind fretted it, neither did a drop of rain fall. Intense,
watchful silence held that hour. The squash of men's feet in the mud, the
soft swirl of the water, the cry of voices alone disturbed the night.
"God be praised! I do think 'tis 'bating," cried the farmer presently. He
ran every few minutes to the water and examined a stake hammered into it a
foot from the edge. It seemed, as far as might be judged by such fitful
light and rough measurement, that the river had sunk an inch or two, but it
was running in undulations, and what its muddy mass had lost in volume was
gained in speed. The water chattered and hissed; and Amos Bartlett, who
next made a survey, declared that the flood had by no means waned, but
rather risen. Then, the last ropes being disposed to the best advantage,
all joined the laborers who were digging. Twenty minutes later, however,
and before the trench was more than three parts finished, there came a
tremendous change. Turning hastily to the river, Bartlett uttered a shout
of alarm and called for light. He had approached the telltale stake, and
suddenly, before he reached it, found his feet in the water. The river was
rising with fierce rapidity at last, and five minutes later began to lick
at the edge of the hay-rick, and churn along with a strange hidden force
and devil in it.
Pages:
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380