Part 54 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXVI.

AFTER THE DISASTER.

That flow strewed wrecks about the gra.s.s; That ebb swept out the flocks to sea.

A fatal ebb and flow, alas!

To many more than mine and me.--JEAN INGELOW.

The day after the terrible disaster the sun arose upon a scene of awful desolation!

Great was the devastation of lands and dwellings, and the destruction of life and property, by the memorable Black Valley flood!

The Black Valley itself, from its very form, position, and circ.u.mstances, seemed doomed to suffer tremendously from such a disaster.

It was a long, deep, and narrow valley, shut in by two high mountain ridges, which, interlocked in rude rocky precipices at its higher extremity, where the Black Torrent, das.h.i.+ng down the steeps, formed the head of the Black River, which, fed by many other mountain springs, ran down the whole length of the valley, and past the village of Blackville at its lower end.

By the fatal deluge of rain, all the mountain springs were raised to torrents, and the Black Torrent was swollen to a cataract, and all poured down vast floods of water into the Black River, which rose and overflowed its banks even to the mountains' side; so that the Black Valley became a black lake.

The advance of the day, and the retreat of the waters, showed at length the full extent of the disaster.

The dwellings in the valley, and in the village at its foot, were nearly all swept away. Only the strongest buildings, and those on the highest grounds, escaped destruction.

The hotel, the court-house, and the church, were each damaged, but not destroyed.

The prison was carried away, and several of the prisoners drowned.

The family of Dr. Hart were saved. Though more than once submerged, they clung to the floating roof, until they were carried down into calmer waters, where they were picked up by the men who were out in boats to rescue the drowning.

The Black Hall Manor suffered severely. The Hall itself was too strongly built, and upon too high ground, to be even endangered; but its detached offices and laborers' cottages were swept away by the flood. Their inmates happily had saved themselves by speedy flight up the mountain side, and were found the next day safe at Black Hall, where they had taken refuge.

But the sunlight also discovered many more wretches made homeless by the flood, and now sitting and shuddering upon the rocks, up and down the mountain sides.

But the dwellings of all those who had been so fortunate as to escape injury by the flood, were freely opened to receive the homeless sufferers.

It was late in the day before the condition of the ground enabled Lyon Berners, attended by some villagers, to seek the site of the late prison.

Not a vestige of the building remained. The very spot on which it had once stood was unrecognizable--a vast mora.s.s of mud and wreck.

The warden and his family, with Miss Pendleton and a few of the officers of the prison, were found about a mile beyond the scene, grouped together on a high hill, and utterly overcome, in mind and body, by the combined influences of cold and hunger, grief and horror.

”For the Lord's sake, where is my wife? where is Sybil?” anxiously inquired Lyon Berners, though scarcely knowing whether he hoped or feared she might be alive.

Beatrix Pendleton, who had sat with her head bowed down upon her knees, now raised it and said:

”Heaven knows! I tried to make them go and save her; but they would not!

I refused to leave the prison without her, but they forced me on the boat.”

”We couldn't have saved her,” spoke the warden; ”her cell was right at the corner of the building, at the joining of the creek and the river.