VOLUJiK I.
OXFORD, N. C., WEUNKSDAY, JUNK 2, 1875.
NUJ1.J5KR 22.
Fuom Till-: Youtii’« Cu.mi’axion.
BY JfvVRIK B. WILLIAMS.
Comparatively few of the read
ers of the Compunion liave over
seen a woodcliopper’s hut on tlic
Mississi])pi. 1 will introduce you
to one to-day, jjei-haps ratlier
better than the neighboring' huts,
and quite noticeable from its con
nection with a little drama of the
overflow of the great river hi
1874.
The hut stood on the left'bank
of the river, surrounded on three
sides by a low, swampy cotton
wood forest. When the stream
tvas hig'li, the forest was a great
lake of water, and even when it
was low, there were everywhere
green, festering ]iools, and a rank
growtii of fan jialnietto and bri-
ere. No neighbors lived within
five miles of the hut, for it is not
for the interest of the woodchop-
jiers to be, near each other. J'hey
iCHiate far apart, so that a boat
wooding at one pile, may find it
necessary to take in a fresh sup-
j)ly of fuel by the time the ne.xt
IS reached.
The hut had two rooms mean
ly furnished, but very' clean. Jt
Was a dreary, desolate .spot
onougli, but marks of thrift wore
everywhere visible. The yard
■was full of turkeys and chickens.
Pass where you would, Simon
Rost, the owner, was either haul
ing his wood, or piling it on the
lower bank, to be conveniem. to
the boats, and Mrs. Rost might be
seen spinning, knitting or sewing.
Jim, too, their only'' child, a
sturdy, bright-eyed, freckle-face
boy of about twelve, took his
jiart in the general industry'. lie
cut and dried the jiahnetto from
the swamp, and braided it into
the nicest kind of hats and bas
kets. lie drove the wag'on and
helped to cord the rvood. To
him, that great dreary swamp,
which stretched tor miles back,
tvas a perfect yiaradise. Such a
quantity of fish and eratyfish in
the pools ; snch lots of squirrels
and rabbits to be snared, and so
many birds to be shot!
He had a gnn of his oivn that
he had bought from the sale of
his hats and baskets, and 'wa.s a
very good marksman. Then there
tvere hickory nuts, chinquapins
and w'alnuts to be gathered in
tlie antuinu on a ridge about four
miles from the hut; so, take it al
together, though you may' won
der how' a boy' could live in such
a desolate place, without any'
playmates, it is certain that Jim
thought bis home tlio mo.st de-
ligbttul in the world.
To be sure, he was often sick
with dulls and fevers. The long,
grat' moss which only' grows on
malarious spots hung thick on the
trees around the hut. Wherever
y'ou see that ‘ephy'tes,’ or air
plant, you may' understand that
it is a banner iliat disease liangs
out to scare intruders from dan
gerous locations.
On this April morning of 1874
every thing in and around the
hut w'ore a strange, dull look.
The Mississippi had been slowly'
and steadily rising for many
weeks, anti the forest -tvas one
sheet of water, Mr. Rost had
thrown np a levee around his
yard and house, and tliey' 'were
comparatively' dry; but the wa
ter had now nearly' risen to the
top e>l the levee; a few more
indies and it would be over.
Put this ivas not the worst ca
lamity' that lay' in their jiiith. In
trying to save some of ids wood,
yimou Rost had placed it on a
clumsy' ratt. The raft had gone
to pieces, and the man had bare
ly escaped w'itli his life. He
sivam ashore, but the exposure
and grief at bis losses, brought on
an attack of ‘pernicious fever,’ the
most fatal disease of the Missis
sippi coast.
'J'liis morning he lay moaning
and tossing with delirium. It
was impossible to get a physician,
anil not even a neighbor could be
called in to assist the unhappy
wife in her ministrations.
Little .Jim did wliat he could.
He cooked tlidr simple meals,
and s'.vept and cleaned the hut,
so as to save his mother as much
trouble as possible. But the hut
presented a sad picture on tliat
April day’, with the rain falling
steadily oiitsic'e, and within the
husband and i'atber getting ivorse
and -ivorse.
The water mark that Jim bad
put out the night before was no
longer visible. Evidently the
river must have been rising more
rajjidly- -lYithin the last few hours,
and Jim ran down to tlie levee to
see if this ti as true. As he stood
tliere looking over tlie dreary
gray- waste of tvaters, his mother
joined liiin.
‘W’here’s the mark I’ she asked,
anxiously'.
‘The river’s risen clean over it,’
answered the boy'. ‘Look here,
m;un (for mammy), we can’t stand
four inches more of water witliout
goiii’ under. And besides, here’s
two little holes—crawfish lioles, I
reckon—in the levee, and the
water’s seepin throiigli ’em. I’m
a-goin’ to plug ’em right up.’
So down on Ins knees went
Jim, scraping np mud and dirt,
and pushing it in tiie holes.
‘Needn’t do that,’ said the
mother, with a sigh. ‘You can’t
keep the river from cornin’ over
to-night or to-morrow, and it’s
bound to do it unless God helps
us. If it rvont break through,
and will only' come over gradual
like, it might give us a chance.’
‘Then why' not start right off,
mam f’ he asked, eagerly. ‘^Ye
can take the skitf here and pull
up to Uncle Sam’s by' night. It
aint more than six miles.’
‘It would lull your father,’ and
the poor woman’s voice shook.
‘He couldn’t bo taken out in all
tills rain. No, we must take our
chances ; but yon, Jim, y'ou bad
better go right off. You aint ve
ry strong, but 1 reckon you can
pull to Sam’s some time to-niglit.
The current is powerful strong,
though, so you’d better keep well
in sliore till you get nearly there.
Go, Jim, go.’ she laid her hand
on tlie tangled tow locks of the
boy', and a hard, diy sob shook
her whole frame; but she was a
brave woman, and soon conquer
ed her emotion.
‘Yes, go, sonny', for I can bear
tilings better if 1 knowed yotf Was
safe.’
The hoy had not answ'cred her
when she first spoke ; in fact, lie
did not seem to- take bathe mean
ing of her words. But ■\^■kea- he
did, he sprang to his foot and
turned a rvliite, set face towards
hef;
‘Go !’ he cried. ‘Did y'on mean
I was to go, mam, like a sneak,
and leave y'Ou and dad to he
swept away' I No, you never
could have meant tliatj I reckon.
But ef y'Ou did, it’s all the same
tiling, for hero 1 stays; and ef
you and dad goes, why, I reckon
you needn’t leave me beliind.
Don’t get downhearted, nuim.
Wliy, rve’ve got lots of chances
yet.’
The ivoman sighed and looked
hoiielessly' around, but to lier
more exjierienced ey'es, the clian-
ces of escajie n ere slim, indeed.
‘First and foremost,’ cried Jim,
cheerfully', imliooking the chain
of the skiif from its staple on the
levee, ‘first, y ou’re to help me,
iiiaui, to haul this skiff up to the
house, and tie it to tlie door-posts.
I heard dad say that was to be
done, so ef the water come with
a rush, tlie boat would be bandy
to step right in.’
‘Tlnit is a good idea, sonnv,’
said his mother, approvingly. ‘1
declare, 1 had dean forgot what
yom- father said about it.’
So they pulled and tugged at
the shift' until it was dragged to
the door-steps and .seciu'ely fas
tened by' a rope wliidi extended
n-itliin the house, and which was
tied to one of tlie rafters.
By’ this time the sick man had
awakened from his restless sleej),
and Mrs. Rost’s heart sank witliin
her wlieii she perceived that hi.s
fever and delirium had increased
within the la.st hour. She knew
something of the . treatment of this
tiisease in its early stages, but it
had now passed bey’oud lier
kno^vIedge of its proper treat
ment. She could only' ii-ateh and
[iray’ bv the bedside, and wet liis
parched lips with water.
Meantime Jim was as Imsy' as
a bee, prejiariiig the boat. At
the bottom he laid a small, light
feather bed. ‘For dad to lie on,’
he wliisperod to bis niotber. He
packed iqo their scanty clotliing
in as small a compass as possible,
.and stowed aw'ay the bundles so
as to scatter their weight. The
boat was too small to hold anv
cumbrous articles, and their val
uables did not make a large pack
age ; so tliore was quite room
enough.
Mrs. Rost watched her son’s
labors with silent interest, but
when he concluded by fastening-
in the bow of the boat a large
tire-pan used in deer-hunting at
night, and filled it witli split pine
knots, her astonishment was great.
‘Wliat on earth are you a-doin’
with that fire-pan, sonny I’
‘Why', y'ou see, mam,’ (nodding
his head knowingly), ‘if we’re
obliged to start at night, it’ll be
h.andy to have a light, on dad’s
account, y'Ou know, and so as the
steamboats wont run us down in
the dark.
Mrs. Rost looked approviftgly'
at her b'oy’. ‘You’re a thoughtful
chap, sonny', that’s a fact, and the
steamboat,s elo keep up a great
ruimin’ np and down,- And that
reminds me. Wliy' Aot hail the
first boat that goes- np, and then
we can take y'oiii- father comfort
able like to Sam’s 'S 1 roeko-if it
-wont cost linftck-’'
Jim clapped his Imnefs approv
ingly, and the pufliiig of a boat
just round the point l.ielow took
him in liot liaste to the levee.
Tlie boat, however, kept near the
opposite bank, and the Mississippi
in liigh ■iv'ater is d mile wide in
many places. Jim’s shouts did
not reach tlie men on tlio boat,
nor did they' see tlio hamlkerchiel
he ivaved at the end of a long
pole. Even had the officers on
board the steamer iitai'd or seen
them, they would probably' not
have heeded, for there were sev
eral ugly' snags on the side of the
river 1^•here Mr. Rost lived, easily-
avoided when the river was low,
but very' dangerous when hidden
by the water;
Boat after boatpa.sscd that day.
Boor Jim shouted until his voice
failed, and waved until Ins arms
ached, but to no avail. Dusk
came on, misty', rainy, and Jim
crept disconsolately witliin.
‘Taint no use, mam,’ ho said,
shaking the rain from his driji-
})ing hat. ‘The boats wont stoyi,
no-liow, and we’ve just got one
incli and a half of bank before the
river comes over.’
‘Can’t be lielped,’ ansivored his
motlier, with a deep sigh. ‘Folks
that take up woodchoppers’ trade
is got to bear woodclioppei-s’ luck.
Seems to me, Jim, your father is
easier and quieter like now. Come
and look at him.’
On tip-toe the boy approaclied
the bed. He had luu-dly reached
it when Iiis mother S]n-ung to her
feet imd slu-iekeil aloud,—
‘O merciful God, it’.s come.’
Jim did not need to ask what
had conio. Tlie levee had bro
ken, and a great ivall of ivater
hurled itself against the hut, stav
ing in the front and lifting the
boy oft' his feet. He was jirepar-
ed, however, for the emergency'.
‘Don’t be se.ai-ed, mam,’ he
cried out, clieevily, ‘I’vo got the
rope in my liaiid, and the skitf’s
safe.’
The water was rushing like a
mill-dam through the fissure in
the hut, and Mrs. Rost, ivaist
deep in it, was holding on to
tlie floating bed on which her
husband lay'.
She could swim as well as Jim
himself, and so slie managed to
keep from being swept away’, un
til the skiff' into wliicli Jim bad
scrambled, was pushed to her,
and Mr. Rost lifted carefully in.
She got in then, and, taking np
an oar, Jim and she managed to
pusli away' from the lint just as it
was borne down the furious tide.
They dill riot pause to lament
the loss of their home. There
w'as no time to do any thing but
to keep the boat clear of the
floating timber, and of the eddies
and whirlpools that tried to suck
them in. At last a comparative
ly clear S2tac0 was reached in the
open river.
‘Keep the skiif tyelf in shore,
Jim,’ said his mother ; ‘the current
is running too .strong here':’' So,
with all their strength, the' boat
was proiielled! iiear the shore ; at
least, near the trees which grew
on the bank,, for the river had
Covered the land for miles- back
of its banks.-
Jimi BOW liglifenod the' pifie
knots- iA' the fire-pa-n.- In sjiitc of
Ao ^aiii, which: bad increa.sed,
Sheyr- s«u, ■(■-fp a desf flam®,, niak-
i-ng. tl-w' dreary night’ aii'd the-
! 'lark, rnshing iratcrs more hide
ous than any imagination could
picture;
Mrs: Rost stbdjibd ildirn tri cov^
er lier husband, and almost shriek
ed as her hand touched his coldj
clainmy forehead. She felt his
imlse. It was feeble and flutter
ing. Had she been a weak, hys
terical woman, it is iirobablS slid
would have shrieked, cir fain-
t (1, or made i.erself as genorally
useless as nervous -ivoiiieu man
age to do in omergoncies; But)
as it was, she only redoubled her
efforts to gain some place of shel
ter.
‘Full for dear life, Jim,’ .she
said. ‘Your father is worse;
IVatch for the the big forkitl
oak, if it aint swejit an ay-, fi.f
you know Sam lives just ojiposite
it’
It was long past midnigt wlieii
tlie oak was reached. The water'
there was calm, and the current
comparatively weak; Mrs. Rost
laid down her oars and stooped
over her husband. It only need
ed a touch to assure the jioor wo
man tliat never more would that
still pulse thrill with the pains or
pleasures of life. He was dead;
‘He’s gone, sonny !’ slie groan
ed, and there was more of the ag
ony of grief in the tone with which
s lO uttered these few Words than
sobs or screams could convey;
.She covered her face with her
hands, and teai-less and silent)
sank beside him,
At any* other time, Jim woftld
have woiit and moaned like other’
children at the loss of a good fa
ther whom lie loved. But now)
with the whole responsibility of
the situation thrust uj)on him,
unable to leave his oars for a
minute, or they would have drift
ed down the tide, the brave boy’
choked doivn his grief, thoiigu
Itis heart seemed breaking.
‘0 mam,’ and there was a piti-'
fill quaver in his voice, ‘yi.ui’vo
got me loft, and I’ll be a good son*
to you alway's. Don’t go on so,’
mam, please 'don’t. Help me to
cross the river to Uncle sam’s for
you know I can’t pull across my-
seli. We’ll all be drowned tlii.s
blessed night ef y'Ou don’t for i
can’t 2)ull much longer.’
Ho knew right well this cryr'
for help -would rouse his mother.-
She rose, and still mute took her'
oars, and they' turned the bow of
the boat to the opposite shore.
Then commenced a struggle’
against the strong, rapid corrent,’
to which all their previous efforts’
had been child’s play. Dead cat
tle roofs and timbers of house.s’
floated against them. They ivere’
dashed against snags, and whirl-’
ed in the roots of floating trees.
The) torch in the bow only'
threw its light on dangers when'
they were upon the*,- Slid they,
were conscious' iusfead of
crossing where th^y liad intend
ed, tlie tido was bearing them far
below.-
Poor JimV littfe ^ifrhs asy
if the}' Avould drop from his shoul
ders ;■ but in spi-te of the ache ho'
would manage to say, at inter
vals/—•"
^ 'Ohe'ef' Tip, mam, I reckon we’ll
be* at Uncle sam’s 2^i‘ctty sooi^
myiv'.’
Suddenly a sound smote upo:^*
the* boy’s quick ehr whieh- frozen
(t'oHtbimt on foioih imje,)