Part 3

There breathless they stood in an agonized fear When they saw him ride high to again disappear; But bravely he fought with the oars at his side, Though his efforts were futile to stem the high tide; They saw the boat whirl in an eddy away, Till it seemed he ceased striving in utter dismay; Then the dancers seemed paralyzed there on the place, And horror was stamped upon ev’ry pale face; They heard his wild cries and it filled them with gloom, He went from their view, and they thought to his doom.

They stood there in terror and thought of his fate. It redoubled the fear of their own trying state, And the ghost of poor Dan seemed to everywhere walk In their midst--they were dazed and unable to talk; For many were there who in life had seen naught Of the horrors like that which that day to them brought, And now when they realized all that had come, They cried, Oh! they screamed for the loved ones at home, But their voices were drowned in the maddening roar And their tears dimmed the view of the far distant shore.

We shrink from imprisonment ever afar; We fight against water, the wall, or the bar That would keep us from freedom to do as we will; Even lovers or comrades together are still, Never nearly so happy when liberty’s gone; So they brought up the wine--something had to be done-- And all the men drank it to steady their nerve, For Twilley had told them that wine would preserve The courage of man where there’s danger to face, And the women all ate, as they cried ’round the place.

For women eat more when they feel they’re in trouble, And men not so much, but they drink about double. True, ’tis better in flood times to keep duly sober, Like Noah of old did--the flood was all over When he was so drunken--for he understood (After being forewarned) how to handle a flood, While the dancers lacked wisdom to know what to do, For the strange situation was awkward and new; But if they seemed foolish and often uncouth, ’Twas still but the weakness and folly of youth.

Now Twilley was thoughtful, and (not to repeat) Though very good-natured, was also discreet; He cautioned the men not to drink more than needed, And, of course, he had felt his advice would be heeded, But the men were but men, and the most were mere boys, At that uncertain age called the “hobble-de-hoys,” Unused to the wine, or the shame that it brings, And quite self-important, but (innocent things) How could they when older become very sage If they hadn’t learned something at that early age?

The flood was declining at noon-time that day, And danger seemed held in abeyance away. The clouds rolled away, and the afternoon sun Looked down with a smile that was brim-full of fun. The dancers held councils and hoped for the best Till all were more tranquil and much less distressed, And as most of the dancers were youthful in years, And none had grown old in their hearts, so their fears Were more transient to them than to those who were older, While their daring, as well as their folly, was bolder.

Day waned into night, and with no sign of rain, They had dreaded the night, but the moon shone again And that seemed the signal that none were to die, So they sat down to eat with the table banked high, And glad with the thought of the waters declining, They forgot all their trials and soon began dining, And all of them dallied a little with wine (To get up a courage) and some feeling fine Sprang up with a song and went dancing around All over the house on the acre of ground.

’Twas as if they had suddenly lost all their fears, Or had burst into laughter while still in their tears. They capered and romped in a strange childish glee, While Malindy was singing hilariously. The chaperone scolded and coaxed them in vain To heed what she said, and be decent and sane; To remember their danger and think of poor Dan; She cried and she screamed, but they every one ran And left their hen-mamma so anxious and fond, Like so many gosling, to swim in the pond.

And what though the fiddlers felt sleepy and droned Or even the fiddles went harsh and untoned, So long as the drum was sufficiently jarred, The dance was too maudlin to feel the discord, The witling went whirling in ancient ghwazee, But just what to call it no two could agree. “A damsel once danced it,” the great witling said, “When her sweet mamma wanted the great Baptist’s head.” If he meant to be gruesome, they said he was shallow, And as none would dance with him he danced with his shadow.

The bold Roland Rare was possessed with a swagger That had all the grace of a common blind stagger, While Simon, the cynic, looked on with a sneer, And every time Roland passed grinned with a leer. The folly went on as it had gone before, Till some growing thoughtful, refused to dance more; Then directly most every one seemed of like thought, For the wine was all gone, and the ones who had sought The wine cup the most, had a look as if taunted By more than the fear with which others were haunted.

For the pleasure from wine turned to mockery soon, And the sweetest song then had remorse in its tone. When the spirit they found in the cup that was brought Turned a weakling and died and their nerves were distraught. Then their folly to them seemed as dark as a crime Which could never be whitened by penance or time-- Crash! ev’rywhere out of doors, crash and splash! The drift-wood and water and yellow waves dash. And in the room there all the women are crying, While all the men suffer a weakness as trying.

For their nerves were so racked by the roar of the river That the men felt their danger more keenly than ever; But one told a story and some tried to smile With efforts to rally the others the while From cowardly fearing; then some fell asleep To awake with a start and upon the floor leap; But Simon, the cynic, still looked with a sneer, And ev’ry time Roland waked, grinned with a leer; And assuming his swagger with impudent mocking, He sang with a ribaldry meant to be shocking.

SIMON’S SONG

Arrayed in fine linen, we go to a ball, Where we banquet with friends whom we joyously meet, And we revel down wine and the savories all Mid flowers and the music so lang’rously sweet; But anon, while we linger the banqueting sours In these bothersome bodies of ours.

Then in stupor we sleep while our spirits take flight To places unknown in a wondering dream, And we fall from a tower in a horrible fright, Where we strangle and drown in a deep-rolling stream; For our spirits may soar all alone to high towers, But they fall with these bodies of ours.

We have faith and a hope and some charity, too, We trust in our preacher, or elder, or pope, And so far as we know, ’tis the best thing to do, But the fall shakes our faith and we all but lose hope When we think of the grave and the worm that devours These bothersome bodies of ours.

Still, ’tis hard to stay drowned very long in a dream When one is so restless in body and mind, So we struggle and flounder from out of the stream To awake in a cold, clammy sweat, and we find That the trouble’s a banquet with music and flowers In these bothersome bodies of ours.

He sang it as though it o’erflowed with his wit, And the dancers were glad when he got through with it. Even danger no longer could keep them from sleep, Which was fitful to some, whilst to others ’twas deep, But they left not the room where in circles they grouped, Or they lounged in the chairs, as when sleeping they drooped. They were tired, Oh! so tired, and with all so distressed, They slept in discomfort, but tried to find rest, When suddenly every one woke with a fear-- A storm was approaching, they felt it was near.

They heard the wind moaning among the tall trees, Then louder and swift sprang the shrill eastern breeze, Until the house shook from the force of its sway, And they felt the trees bend as their shadows would play; Then the rain began falling, though lightly at first, Till directly it seemed like a sweeping cloud-burst; When a flash of sharp lightning had blinded the room, A terrific loud peal like a great cannon’s boom Came thundering above them with crashing resound That made the house quake on the acre of ground.

Then to every one came an alarm for their daring And folly. In silence, with awe in their bearing, They tiptoed to look out of window and door, Then out in the darkness and in the down-pour Of the rain to the edge of the water they wandered. The river was rising! They shivered and pondered, And they peered through the gloom for help that might come, But it came not! it came not! They turned to the home Through the darkness of night and the chill of the air, They groped to the house in an utter despair.

A cry of distress from without reached their ears, Then louder it grew, and with strange, haunting fears, They trembled and listened to hear it again, When above the loud roar and the storm and the rain, Like a wail of the lost came the heart-rending cry. Some fainted; some stood with a wide-staring eye And ran from the room on a rescue to start, Whilst others sprang up with a fast beating heart, When the crying grew faint, like a nightmare it pass’d, But it left with the dancers the shadow it cast.

The storm was abating, the rainfall had ceased, The terrible roar for a time had decreased, The dancers were thoughtful and quiet at last, And hopeful, perhaps, that the worst had now passed, When, horrors! Again came a cry of despair, Then louder and longer it hung in the air; “Oh, some one is drowning,” they screamed as they flew Through the hall and the doorway--so sure it was true-- And there in the darkness, with no moon to see by, They found the hound howling most piteously.

That ominous sound was to them the death token; They returned to the house, and without a word spoken (Their feelings too awed for a word or a tear), To sit there in silence and tremble in fear, Till some one spoke softly of Dan and his fate; Then Malindy grew nervous--the strain was too great-- She rose to her feet with an uncertain totter, And weaving around till the bachelor caught her, “How awful!” she sighed, as she fell in a swoon, “To hear a hound howling without any moon!”

There then was confusion--the table knocked over And likewise the chairs--but the bachelor lover Held fast to Malindy, as all lovers should; Malindy lay quiet--but that’s understood-- The witling ran errands and acted real nice, While Neoma was rubbing, and all gave advice, Or all save the Cynic, who grinned ’round the place, Till Malindy came to, when she hid her sweet face In the bachelor’s arms, where they left her alone, “Come away,” cried the Cynic, “at last she is won.”

There was no more dancing throughout the dark night, So intently they longed for the coming of light, For danger and darkness are frightfully mated When danger approaches where darkness has waited. They heard the wild river loud laughing and jeering! It mocked at their fears while it ever was nearing; Then they huddled in groups, as do creatures when caged, When they heard the mad monster that roared and raged-- He was coming, was coming, they knew by the sound, He would sweep the house off of the acre of ground.

At daybreak the water was high in the barn. They moved all the horses and cattle and corn Near the house, and there likewise they stacked up the hay. Thus the morning hours passed with forebodings away, With many reproaches and bitter complaints, That none came to rescue--and two or three faints. If in darkness they’d longed for the coming of light, (While regretting their folly, they’d thought of their plight), Still the danger seemed greater that noon-day had brought, As even that came with a new peril fraught.

For the river still rose and the horses and cattle Stood in water to knees; ’twas in earnest a battle For life, for the whole of the great bulk of hay That the dancers had stacked had now floated away, And the corn had all gone, leaving nothing to eat-- It was hard for the cattle to stand on their feet. Some one cried, “O! look yonder--the barn is afloat!” And sullen and black like a water-soaked boat, They saw it sink low to its roof in the tide Where the great hound had clambered in safety to ride.

For the current was swift and the wagon had gone That the dancers had come in as others had done From the lot; now away swam a cow, then another-- The cattle and horses all went. “’Tis no bother For horses and cattle to swim for the shore,” The “Oracle” said, as he tore off a door; And he would have jumped headlong with door in the flood, But the men held him fast while the women all stood There and screamed till a panicky feeling went ’round To all that was left of the acre of ground.

They heard a shrill whistle, and help seemed at hand, For around the great bend came the steamer _Renand_; Their hearts filled with hope; to their eyes came the tear That sprang from their joy as the steamer came near. With frantic wild gestures, they signaled the boat; She was coming their way, they with rapture could note. Then another shrill whistle--a strange, startled scream. She turned from her course and she fled down the stream As though their loud yelling had filled her with fear-- Apast them she sped like a frightened white deer.

Ah! the tears of the sweet, pretty dancers would call For a saint or dare-devil to rescue them all. They could look to the hill to see daring men steer With effort to reach them, and once they came near, But were carried away by the rush of the tide. And often again was it desperately tried By many who valiantly fought with the wave, And risked their own life, hoping others to save, While ev’ry frail dancer stood near to the river, Despairing at each unsuccessful endeavor.

The “Oracle” said, “Could I swim like Leander Of Hellespont fame, I would take one and land her On shore, then return for another, and so on, Until every fair dancer around here was gone; For having the courage and vigor and vim, I wish in my heart that I knew how to swim. But there’s no use to worry, or climb a steep hill Till a person comes to it--you’ve heard of that--still If I only could swim, I could quickly go through it, Should the river still rise--I may anyway do it.”

Then he called on Peneus, he thought it was best, As he’d often approached him when sorely distressed; He was sure that Peneus would listen to him; He would have him turn trouble, though hope was so dim, To a travesty there on the acre of ground; But the river god nowhere it seemed could be found, (He may have been busy with some other care), And they got no reply to the “Oracle’s” prayer; Then the “Oracle” said he would try his own scheme; So he stretched forth his hand and commanded the stream:

O, wayward stream! Return and to thy channel keep, Where thou hast droned in drowsy sleep For full a century of years, And have our love without our fears.

How have we loved thee, O, great stream! And thou hast been to us a theme As pleasing as the sweetest dream, Why do you turn with sullen hate, All swollen in your drunken sate?

Relent! Relent! Abate the currents that have bent Thy body so enormously. O, backward to thy channel flow And stay thy riot and its woe.

But the flood was too big for one man to assuage; It continued to rise and to roar and to rage; It had gotten a start, and it now seemed too late For the great dancing master to check or abate. He realized that he had been in the wrong To neglect to attend to the flood for so long. “At first I had seemed to enjoy it,” he said, “But, like dancing, the fiddler will have to be paid; Still, ’tis better,” said he, “not to let our hearts worry, For the flood will subside when it gets o’er its flurry.”

Some complained that he’d uselessly raised their hope high, Then the “Oracle” said he would save them or die. He proposed that he build them a raft out of logs, And he worked for a while, but his fine dancing togs Got bedraggled--he’d fallen asprawl in the flood, Where he floundered around in the water and mud, Till they grappled him out. Oh! it seemed such a shame! He looked at his raiment, he spoke of his fame; He declared he just knew he looked worse than the hound That had gone with the barn from the acre of ground.

Then ev’ry one felt they had lost their last chance, Whilst the “Oracle” stood like a man in a trance-- He had lost his fine book of dance-calls, with its verses, Morose from his losses, in silence or curses, He lamented the folly of building the raft, For misfortune had struck with a swift, heavy shaft, And his proud spirit broke when he saw that the flood Had bespattered his coat with the yellow clay mud. ’Twas a humiliation, deserving compassion-- Most people lose heart when they go out of fashion.

So Simon, to comfort him, said, “Do not worry; The flood will subside when it gets o’er its flurry.” “And your rhymes,” said the wit, “They were mostly old rhymes; They were fine, to be sure, but ’tis better at times To write something new; on occasions like these One should write on the spot of the thing that he sees.” “For shame!” cried Neoma. She led him away To help the poor “Oracle” scrub off the clay; She rubbed him and scrubbed him and wheedled him ’round, Till he said he was glad that he didn’t get drowned.

Now the house became flooded, and to the top floor They were driven. In eddies the flood-waters tore Around through the hall and the parlor below Till it burst through the windows to vent its o’erflow. The tuneful piano went waltzing around With the tables for partners or what else it found, Till, dizzy at times, it would bump on the wall, When its vibrating strings gave a discordant brawl As if in abandon it turned debauchée To sicken their heart with its sad revelry.

They saw as they looked from the windows above The bric-a-brac leaving, with emblems of love, An album, the old family Bible, and all Of Twilley’s fine pictures that hung on the wall. They saw them pass out of the windows below, Both single and double they filed in a row Out into the world on the turbulent wave To swim or to find there a watery grave; And last came that motto, the “God Bless Our Home,” Went floating away on the yellowish foam.

That grieved the poor Twilley. He didn’t care much For pictures and albums or Bibles and such, But that “God Bless Our Home” was the pride of his heart; He always had thought it a piece of fine art; He had spent a whole Sunday in placing the shells, And had worked on it two or three days at odd spells-- Smash! “Great Heavens!” asked Simon, “What can that all be?” “Oh, nothing,” said Twilley, “except a huge tree That is raking its length ’gainst the house as it passes To break a few more of the front window glasses.”

Day and night they had kept the tired vigil while waiting, And hoping the waters would soon be abating; But nearer and nearer the high waters rose A space at a time as a risin’ flood grows; And if they were hungry, they thought not of that; If they wanted for sleep, still, they wide-awake sat. They feared that some madness would seize them while there, For they felt a great dreading of something so dire That menaced and seemed like the haunting of fate, And frowned with a visage as ugly as hate.

The threats of the weak brought alarm to the stronger, For to some the suspense was unbearable longer, And a murmur was heard of a way that was brief, To end all in a plunge that would bring a relief; From the tense agony and the painful delay Of a hope against hope through the night and the day; For although it is true, there is hope while there’s breath, Still some rush to death while the end _is_ but death, As though anguish of thought finds its only surcease To yield quickly to death and its certain release.

For it seemed there were few who had thought from the first That the flood would go on till it came to the worst: The Cynic sat anxious, with face blanching white, His tremors betraying the state of his fright; The wit, who had jabbered his thin airy gibes, Now turned him to whining in whimpering dribes; And minus the old-time bravado he wore, Was the “Oracle” nervously pacing the floor. They were all much alike as they thought of their fate, But they counseled each other to stay there and wait.

In the room where they danced on the evening before The water was slushing above the hall door. It had followed them there as they moved up above, Persistently followed--they felt the house move! Their hearts then stood still, and the “Oracle” said, “Let us pray;” so the dancers knelt down while he prayed, As only a helpless, dependent one can. He ended his prayer in the way he began-- “Lord help us and save us! We asked for no crown, But we do want the house till the flood should go down.”

His praying seemed awkward to some, it is true, But the most of them thought that perhaps it would do, For the house was still standing when prayer was through, Still, they heard the house creaking--’twas leaning some, too-- Then a yellow wave came with a swell, and it made The house groan as it turned half around, but it stayed For a moment to get its true bearings just right, Then it plunged till the top floor alone was in sight, And swiftly it sped as it whirled down the stream, Sans captain or pilot, sans rudder or steam.

And once the house tilted when bumping ground Till very far listed, but righted around; Then the smashing of timbers that made their hearts ache, And the strained and warped floors that seemed ready to break Made them shudder and fly when the waters would swirl As ever and ever they sped in a whirl, And the world seemed unsteady with nothing to stay While the hills flew in circles a distance away, And they all but gave up to the fate that had frowned As they went with the house from the acre of ground.

They were dumb. Not a soul but had ceased to complain; They felt they were doomed, and to struggle was vain. Some covered their faces and muffled their ears; Some trembled and shook as with palsy from fears. Like children they clung to each other and waited In terror and silence, as if they were fated, Or looked at each other wild-eyed and in wonder, And hurdling together were thrown asunder By the surging and swirling of onrushing water, And were pent up and helpless as lambs for the slaughter.

Then the dark moment passed and a hope came again; It came like the smile of the sun through the rain, For the current had turned and toward the south veering, They could see, with a joy, that the hills they were nearing; And the house was now slowing as onward it bore, While people came running to meet them on shore, As nearer and nearer the house-boat had veered, Where were all of the town folks who heard and had feared They were lost, and among them the care-worn mothers, The anxious old fathers and sisters and brothers.