A Flood

New York: G.C. at the Harbor Press, 8 December 1930, pages 1-33, 3,926 words

In his dreams he was in very cold, muddy water full of little waves, but he didn't mind these: he could keep himself above them by treading water and putting forth all his strength. But the waves rose higher, slapping him in the face and often in the mouth, and he had so much trouble to get his breath that it seemed to him a simpler plan to sink deeper, which he did; and lying, quite natural and comfortable, among rocks, he listened to a dinning above his head, hoping it would cease. At last he opened his eyes.

"It's this infernal rain on the roof that makes me dream," he said.

A bed had been made up for him in the kitchen on three chairs, and when he awoke he found himself sitting bolt upright with his arms bent, his legs stiff and numbed with cold. The hearth was full of ashes with a last spark fading in the dawn light, and catching an end of his blanket he rubbed his hands against it, tumbled over a chair. And going to the window he marvelled to see the bonoughs swimming in the piggeries, with the sow striving to break out of danger. Beyond in mid-river Peter, the house-dog, on his chain was swimming. There was a grey­ness in the air.

"The beginning of a late dawning," Tom said to himself. "A drowning day it surely is!" And his heart misgave him strangely when one after the other the hens left the coop and after a short flight fell into the river. The cock crew, and Tom waited to see if his stronger wings would carry him to yonder shore; but the staircase behind him creaked, and turning from the flooding river he saw old Daddy Lupton, awful in his nightshirt, like Death himself coming to bid him good-morning.

"Well," said Daddy, "what do 'ee think about the jade now? She makes one feel young again. The biggest flood we've had these sixty years." And babbling his recollections of a great flood of eighty years ago, in which he had nearly lost his life, he followed Tom to the window telling how the water came down the valley faster than a horse could gallop. "All my brothers and sisters were drowned, father and mother too, but my cradle floated right away as far as Harebridge, where it was picked up by a party in a boat. And there h'an't been no flood to speak of since then; we sleep sound enough, though the rain be on the roof.

"We must wake 'em," said Tom. He ran upstairs calling out, and in a few minutes the pointsman and his family were standing in the kitchen: John Lupton, a tall man with a long neck and thin, square shoulders, a red beard and small, queer eyes, and hands freckled and hairy, and Margaret Lupton, his wife, a pleasant, portly woman of forty, with soft blue eyes and regular features. The daughter, Liz, took after her father, a thin-shouldered, thin-featured girl, with small, ardent eyes and dark reddish, crinkly hair, whereas Billy reproduced his mother's undetermined face, blue, timid eyes, plainly more of a girl than a boy, despite his curiosity for Tom's boat.

"Shall we go in the boat, father?"

"What boat, sonny?"

"Tom's boat, to be sure."

"Tom's boat wouldn't hold us all."

"We needn't all go together.''

"My boat is far enough from 'ere by this time," said Tom, "or most like she's at the bottom of the river. I tied her last night to the old willow."

He and Liz were to be married at the end of the week, and yesterday being Sunday he had rowed himself across at sundown; and the hours after supper had gone by pleasantly, his arm round Liz's waist, till the time came for him to bid her good-night. But on seeing the swollen river she had turned her pretty, freckled face to his and dissuaded him, and they had returned to the cottage.

"I never seed the river rise so quickly afore," said Lupton.

"I did. I did."

It was Daddy that answered. He was still in his nightshirt, and his last tooth shook in his white beard.

"Go and dress 'eeself, father. And why, mother, don't 'ee light the:fire? The morning is that rare cold we'll all be the better for a cup of tea."

"Yes, father, I won't be long now;" and she began breaking sticks.

Whilst the kettle was boiling Tom told them that the pigs had broken out of their styes. They lamented the loss of their winter food, and Billy burst into tears on hearing that Peter had gone away, swim­ming after his kennel.

"Come, let us sit down to breakfast," Lupton said.

But they had hardly tasted their tea when Billy cried out:

"Father, father, the water be coming in under the door yonder. Take me on 'ee knee, father. 'Ee did promise to take me to Harebridge. But if I drown I shall never see the circus."

Lupton took the little chap on his knee.

"There will be no danger of that. Grandfather will tell 'ee that this be nothing to the floods he knew when he was a little boy."

The water continued to come under the door, collecting where the asphalted floor had been worn, and they watched it rising out of these slight holes and coming towards the table. It came at first very slowly, and then suddenly it rose over their knees, and while Mrs. Lupton took the baby out of the cot the others searched for tea, sugar, bacon, eggs, coal, and candles.

"We shall be wanting all these things," Lupton said, "for the water may keep us upstairs for hours to come."

And they were very wet when they assembled in Lupton's bed-room. Lupton emptied his big boots out of the window and called on Tom to do the same; Liz wrung out her petticoats; and standing round the table they supped their tea and ate some slices of bread and butter. The baby had been laid asleep on the bed, and Daddy sat by the baby softening his bread in his mug of tea, mumbling to himself, his fading brain full of incoherent recollections.

"The folk in them fine houses will be surprised to see the water at the bottom of their parks," said Lupton, to break an oppressive silence.

"They be like to live so high up the water will never reach them," Mrs. Lupton answered.

"It h'ain't like them to think for to send us ‘elp. "

"They 'aven't no boats up yonder," said Tom. "They be a good mile up from the river."

"Tom, dear, it's a pity your boat be gone, for you might have rowed me right into Harebridge."

"Yes, Liz, if you'd set still I might have taken 'ee through them currents; or as likely we might have gotten sucked under by an eddy, or a hole be knocked in the boat by some floating baulk."

"I be lighter that Liz; would 'ee take me, Tom?" said Billy.

As the tops of the apple trees were still visible they judged the depth of the water to be about ten feet. Cattle passed the window, some swimming strong and well, others nearly exhausted. A dead horse whirled past, its poor neck stretched out lamentably, and they all laughed at the fox that floated so peacefully in the middle of a drowned hen-roost. The apples came by in great numbers; Billy forgot his fears in his desire to clutch some; and a little later they saw two great trees rolling towards the pointsman's box.

"There she goes!" cried Lupton. "And how she do swim! She'd put me into the quay at Harebridge as well as a steam packet.''

Pointing to a post, Liz said there was no sign of it ten minutes before. Lupton was not so sure, and when the post disappeared everybody began to wonder what the cause of the flood might be, and everybody waited for Lupton to speak. At first he was loth to tell them that he could only understand that the embankments up yonder at the factories had given way; and to cheer them, he added: "They'll not forget the pointsman. A boat will be sent." As Lupton said these words Billy asked his grandfather to tell them if the flood was as big as the great flood of sixty years ago that had carried an entire village away.

"That was a flood and a big one, but the biggest of all was eighty years ago, when my cradle came down the current to Harebridge and stuck fast in the alder." And he began to tell a story of other children whose cradles had been carried right down to the sea, frightening everybody with his loquacity.

"Tom, ‘as 'ee a bit of baccy to give to Daddy to stop his jaw with?" said John Lupton.

Tom fumbled in his pockets, and when their eyes met each read his own thoughts in the other's face.

"'We must be doing something, that's certain," said Tom. "'But what shall we be doing?"

"Yes, we must be stirring," Lupton answered. And without another word he began to look about the room. "Now, if we 'ad but a few bits of timber we could make a raft. It's a pity that bedstead is of iron."

Tom, who had gone back to the window, cried suddenly:

"Give a hand here, John, for 'ee was talking about a raft and blowed if I 'aven't gotten one."

And looking over Tom's shoulder Lupton saw that he had caught a few planks tied together — a slender raft that somebody up yonder had launched as a last hope.

"Very likely so," said Lupton; "any, how, it's ours. It might carry one of us."

"Yes, one of us might chance his life on it and bring back 'elp."

"That's right enough; it's an off-chance, but one of us had better risk it. Get along, lad, get along, and come back in a boat."

“Don't leave me, Tom," cried Liz. "Let us be drowned together.”

"Be 'ee mazed, lass?" said Lupton. "Tom will manage right well on them planks, and he'll come back in a boat."

"No, father, no. I'd sooner die with Tom than live without him."

"'Ee ain't the only one; 'ee'd better let him go, or yonder church will see no wedding party next Monday. Tom, get astride of them planks at once",

"I think I'd better take this 'ere shutter with me." And while it was lifted from its hinges Lupton lashed two broom handles together.

"Not much of a punt pole, but the best I can give, and maybe it will get 'ee out of the current."

But Liz held Tom back.

"Yes, Liz, Tom loves 'ee, and that is why he must go. Come, girl, hands off. I don't want to be rough with 'ee, but Tom must take the risk of them planks. Now, Tom."

And away he went in a swirl, trying his best to reach bottom with his broom handles; but the raft rolled in the current, and Liz's last sight of her lover was when he attempted to seize some willow branches. The raft slid from under his feet, and he fell into the flood.

"He's gone from 'ee now, and we shall soon follow after if we don't bestir ourselves."

"It matters naught to me now," said Liz.

"I ne'er see one mazed like 'ee afore."

"But I seed many. Sixty years ago all the sweethearts were parted, and by the score. The jade got them, here a girl and there a boy — all but Daddy Lupton, for a wise woman said she shouldn't get 'im, and her word came true. I ain't afeard of 'er. I've seen 'er in worse tantrums than today. It's the rheumatics that I'm afeard of. These 'ere walls will be that damp, will be that…" The old man's voice died away in the whiteness of his beard.

At that moment three tiles fell from the roof; a large hole appeared in one of the walls, and they all felt that the house was falling about them bit by bit. But the immediate danger was from the great baulks that the current swept down. If any one of these were to strike the house, Lupton said, it must topple over into the flood; and lest their luck shouldn't last, Lupton took a sheet from the bed and climbed on to the roof.

"See a boat coming, Liz?” her mother asked, for Liz sat looking towards some willows as if she saw something.

"No boat will come for me. I want no boat to come for me."

"Come, Liz; come, Liz. I wouldn't 'ave 'ee talk like that," her mother answered. The baby began to cry for the breast, and whil’st suckling him Mrs. Lupton raised her head to her husband sitting on the broken wall; but he waved the sheet so despairingly that she did not dare to ask him if a boat were coming.

"I can't sit up 'ere any longer," he said at last. "Let us do something. I don't mind what, so long as it keeps me from thinking."

"I think we'd better say our prayers," said Mrs. Lupton.

"Prayers? No, I can say no prayers. I'm too bothered. I want something that will keep me from thinking. The babbling of that water will drive us mad if we don't do something. Let us tell stories. Liz, don't sit there looking through the room, or what's left of it.You read stories in the papers; can't you tell us one of them?"

Liz shook her head. He asked for the paper. She answered that it was down stairs, and begged that she might take his place on the corner of the wall and wave the sheet on the chance that a boat might be passing within hail.

"She don't pay no attention to what we're saying," said Lupton. "Now that Tom's gone I think she'd just as lief make away with herself…. And what may 'ee be smiling at so heartily, father? 'Ee and the baby are the only two that can smile this morning."

"What be I smiling at? I heard 'ee speak just now of stories. I can zay one, lots of 'em."

"Then tell us a story, father, and a good one. It'll keep our thoughts from that babbling water."

"Well, I was just a thinking. It be now seventy years ago…."

"Well, tell us about it."

“I’ve said it was nigh seventy years ago; I was a growing lad at the time. I remember it as if it was yesterday. Me and Bill Slater was pals. At that time Bill was going to be married. I can see her now, a fine elegant lass, for all the world like our Liz. It had been raining for weeks and weeks — much the same kind of weather as we've had lately, only worse, and the river…."

"We don't want to hear about the river; we want to forget it. I suppose 'ee wants to tell us that Bill Slater and his lass was drowned? We don't want that sort of story, we wants a cheerful story with lots of happiness in it."

"I only knows stories about those that the river took — plenty of 'em, plenty of 'em. The jade didn't get me, for a wise woman said that she would never get me.”

“Did she say, Daddy, that them that was with 'ee was safe too?"

Daddy was only sure of his own safety; and waking suddenly, he said:

“I’ve 'eard John say that 'ee would banish thinking with something. Us better have some cards then. Cards will wake us up.”

"The old chap's right," said Lupton. "Where be the cards? Be they downstairs too? Where's Liz?" Lupton climbed to her place, and after looking round he turned to those in the room and shook his head. “I’m afraid Liz has gone after her sweetheart."

"Very likely," said Daddy."The jade always gets them in the end. Where be the cards?"

"'Yes, where be the cards?" Lupton answered almost savagely. "Be they downstairs, mother?"

"No, John; they be in the drawer of the table."

"'Then, let's have them out. What shall we play? Half-penny nap? Come, mother, and Billy, too, and Daddy. Come, pull your chairs round. I gave 'ee six pence yesterday, father. Find them out; 'ee can't have spent them; and, mother, have 'ee any coppers?"

"I’ve near a shilling in coppers. That will do for Billy and myself."

As there were only three chairs the table was pulled up to the bed where Daddy was sitting.

"Come, let us play, let us play," Lupton cried impatiently.

"I’m thinking of the baby," said Mrs. Lupton. "How unsuspecting he do sleep there!"

"Never mind the baby, mother; think of your cards."

After playing some time Lupton found that he had lost threepence.

"I never seed such luck!" he exclaimed.

They played another round; again Lupton went nap, and again he lost.

"Perhaps it will be them that loses that'll be saved," he said, shuffling the cards.

"Father, I can't play," said Billy.

"Why can't 'ee play, my boy? Ain't mother a-teaching 'ee?"

"Yes, father, but I can't think of the cards; dead things be floating past the window. May I go and sit where I can't see them?"

"Yes, my boy, come and sit on my knee. Look over my cards, but 'ee mustn't tell them what I've gotten."

"Grandfather seems to be winning; he has gotten all the coppers, father.''

"Yes, my boy, grandfather be winning.”

"And what will he do with the winnings if he be drowned, father?"

"Grandfather don't think he will be drowned.''

The old man chuckled and turned over his coppers. His winnings meant a double allowance of tobacco and a glass of ale, and he thought of the second glass of ale he would have if he won again.

"Whose turn is to play?" said Daddy.

"Mine," said Lupton, "and I'll go nap again.”

"'E'll go nap again!"

Lupton lost once more, but this time instead of cursing his luck he remained silent, and at that moment the rush of water beneath their feet sounded more ominous than ever.

"I’ll play no longer," said Lupton."I dunno what I be doing. There's naught in my poor head but the babbling of that water."

A tile slid down the roof, they sprang to their feet, and then they heard a splash. The old man played with his winnings, and Billy began to cry.

"It's sure and certain enough now that no help will come for us," said Mrs. Lupton. "Let's put away the cards and say our prayers, and 'ee might tell us a verse out of the Bible, John."

"Very well, let’s have a prayer. Father, give over counting your money."

"Then no one be coming to save us?" cried Billy. "I don't want to drown, father. I be too young to drown. Grandfather's too old and baby's too young to think much about drowning. But if we drown to-day, father, I shall never see the circus."

"Kneel down, my boy; perhaps God might save us if we prayed to him."

"Oh, God, merciful Saviour, who has power over all things, save us. Oh, Lord, save us.”

"Go on praying, mother," Lupton said as he rose from his knees, and taking another sheet from the bed he climbed to the top of the broken wall; but he had hardly reached it when some bricks gave way and he fell backward and drowned. Mrs. Lupton prayed intermittently, and every now and then a tile splashed into the water.

"The way to manage ‘er is to take ‘er easy. She won’t stand no bullying, and them giddy young folks will bully ‘er, so she always goes for ‘em."

Five or six tiles fell, the house rocked a little, and they could feel the water lifting the floor under their feet.

"Mother," said Billy. The child was so calm, so earnest in his manner, that he seemed suddenly to have grown older. "Mother dear, tell me the truth. — Be I going to drown? We have prayed together, but God don't seem like saving us. I’m afraid, mother; bain't you afraid? Father's gone and Liz’s gone and Tom's gone, all except grandfather and us. Grandfather and the baby don't seem afraid. Mother, let me 'ave your 'and; 'ee won't lose hold of me?"

Mrs. Lupton took the baby from the bed and looked at him, and when she looked up she saw the old man playing with the coppers he had won.

"Does drowning hurt very much, mother?"

The wall wavered about them, some bricks fell out of it. Billy was struck by one, struggled a little way, and fell through the floor. The floor broke again and another piece of the roof came away, and Mrs. Lupton closed her eyes and waited for death. But death did not seem to come, and when she opened her eyes she saw that the floor had snapped at her feet, and the old man was standing behind her.

"A darned narrow escape!" he muttered. "As near as I have had yet."

"They're gone, they be all gone, all of them — baby and all."

"'Ee must have let him slip when the roof came in."

"I let baby slip!" And looking down she saw the child floating among broken things.

"Well, that was a narrow escape!" chimed the quaking voice of the octogenarian. I'm sore afraid the house is in a bad way. I seed many like…."

By some great beams the south wall still held firm, and with it the few feet of floor on which they were standing.

"They be bound to send a boat afore long, or else the wise woman…. Everything's gone — table, cards, and a shilling in coppers.”

"They're all gone. Everything is gone."

"Yes, the jade’s got 'em. She's got near every one I knew at one time or another."

Then the wild grief of the woman seemed to wake reason in Daddy's failing brain. Her eyes were:fixed on the bodies of her husband and child dashed to and fro and sucked under by the current, appearing and disappearing among the wreckage.

"I can't grieve like that; I ken grieve no more. I'm too old. And all excepting me baccy and the rheumatics are the same to me now."

"Saved!" cried a voice. "Give way, my lads, give way."

"Saved, and the others be gone!" cried Mrs. Lupton; and as the boat approached from one side she flung herself into the flood from the other.

"Are you the only one left?" cried a man as the boat came alongside.

"Yes, the jade 'as got all the others. There they be, down there; daughter-in-law has just gone after them, jumped right in after them. But it was told by a wise woman that the jade would never get me, and her words comes true."

"Now then, old gent, let me get hold of you. Be careful where you step. Do nothing to risk your valuable life! There you are, safe, safe from everything but the rheumatics."

"They be very bad at times, and I must be careful of myself this winter."