Night had fallen. Everybody in the little town was asleep. Everybody, that is, except the policeman, who was keeping his watch all alone in the police station.
Nobody dreamed that danger was near. No serious trouble had come to the town in years. There was no sign of trouble now, except that the level of the water in the river was a little higher than usual. But then, the water often rose and fell without anyone’s noticing it. Sometimes, especially in the hot dry summer, the river was merely a little trickle, way down at the bottom of its forty-foot-high banks.
The night wore on. There was no sound save the beating of the rain on the roofs and roadways, and the occasional barking of a dog.
Suddenly the telephone rang sharp and loud in the police station.
Startled a bit, the policeman picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said.
The words that came over the phone shocked him.
“Flood warning!” said a voice. “Lots of water rushing your way. Will reach you in thirty minutes. Get the people out of all houses on low-lying ground. There’s no time to lose.”
A flood! In thirty minutes! How little time to warn everybody! How quickly he must work!
The policeman sounded the alarm, and in an instant the whole town was alive. A few minutes later men were hurrying to the houses down by the river, waking the sleeping families and helping them move what they could of their goods to higher ground. There just wasn’t time to salvage many things.
Some of the people, just roused from sleep, didn’t want to move, especially in the middle of the night, with rain pouring down. They couldn’t believe that a flood was only a few minutes away. But the policeman and the fireman and other friends hurried them out to safety.
Then it came. About one o’clock in the morning, a wall of water, full of uprooted trees, broken houses, and dead animals, rushed by. On its churning surface were tables, chairs, pianos, oil drums, and even cars! It hit the bridge in the middle of town and carried it away as though it had been made of paper. It overflowed its banks and filled all the low-lying land nearby. Some of the houses which people had left but a few minutes before were lifted off their foundations and sent sailing downstream. Others simply collapsed, fell apart, and were carried away.
By this time hundreds of people were standing on high ground near the river, peering through the darkness at the terrible scene before them. How glad they were that nobody was in those houses that were being smashed and carried away by the flood!
Nobody?
“Look!” cried someone, pointing over the swirling water. “Surely that was a light! Over there; look!”
“It can’t be,” said others. “There’s nobody there. There’s no light.”
“But there it is again! It must be a candle. Somebody keeps lighting it, and it blows out.”
“So it is. Whose house is it?”
“That’s Mrs. Smith’s house. Her husband is in the Army, and she has four little children with her. Didn’t anybody warn them?”
Somehow in the darkness and the excitement that house had been missed. Now it was surrounded by wild, rushing water which threatened any moment to carry it away.
“Give me a rope!” cried some brave soul. “I’ll swim over there.”
They tied a rope around the man, and he set off. But he couldn’t get anywhere near. It was impossible. The swift current carried him away, and it was only with great difficulty that he was hauled back. Another man offered to go but he also failed. A third made the attempt, but exhausted, had to give up.
Meanwhile, out there in the darkness a brave mother was making a gallant fight for her life and for the lives of her children.
As no one had called to warn her of the coming flood, she and her children were all fast asleep when the first rush of water came sweeping into their house. Awakened by shouts and the roar of the flood waters going by, she jumped out of bed to find herself standing in two feet of water, which covered the bedroom floor and was fast rising. Suddenly realizing what had happened, she grabbed her four children and lifted them one by one onto the top of a large cupboard. Then as the water rose above the beds, the table, the chairs, she clambered up on top of the cupboard herself, taking with her a candle and matches, a dry blanket, a bottle of milk, a knife, an old chisel, and, of all things, a flatiron!
Now they were all huddled together on top of the cupboard, wondering just how high the water would rise. Then it was that this dear, brave mother began to pray that God would spare her and her children, and if not, let them die together.
An hour passed by. Two hours. It was now three o’clock in the morning. They could feel the water close to the top of the cupboard. Suddenly one of the inside walls of the house gave way and fell with a great splash.
“The end must be near now,” this brave mother said to herself. But she was not ready to give up yet.
Now it was that she made use of the tools she had so wisely brought with her, thinking that she might in some way need them.
Just over their heads was the ceiling, made of thin boards. “If I could just cut through it,” she said to herself, “we could climb up on the rafters. Then we would be another two feet above the water.”
Seizing the flatiron and the blunt chisel, she began chipping away at the board, splitting it off in little pieces until she had made a hole two feet long by nine inches wide. Through this tiny holy she pushed her children, one by one, telling each to sit astride a rafter. She was afraid they might fall through the frail board if they were to stand on it. Then she pulled herself up through the hole and sat with them there, waiting, wondering, praying, while below, the water swirled through the house.
Four o’clock. Five o’clock. Six o’clock. It was getting light now. And what a scene! The great brown torrent was still surging by, with bits of broken houses and furniture floating on its surface.
Hundreds of people who had watched all night were looking anxiously at the one little house still standing in the midst of the flood. Only its roof could be seen now, with the tops of some of its windows. Surely everybody in it must have drowned long ago!
But no! As they looked they could see that someone was cutting a hole in the roof!
The brave little mother was making her last attempt to save her children. She was lifting them out onto the roof!
A shout goes up from the people and tears come to many eyes. But the little family is still in grave danger. At any moment the house could begin to come apart under the pressure of the swirling water.
“Let me try again,” says a strong swimmer. “I think I can make it now.”
They tie a rope around his waist and he sets off through the raging waters. He is swept downstream, but fights his way up again. At last, after a mighty effort, he reaches the house. Another shout goes up from the people anxiously watching on the bank. He has gotten there in time! The family may yet be saved.
Tying the rope securely, he makes his way in through a window. The large cupboard, on which the family had waited so long, and by which they had climbed into the loft, is gone. He signals back for a ladder. Soon another swimmer, aided by the rope, is on his way with one. Another swimmer follows. Soon one of them is seen swimming from the house with a little girl on his shoulders.
Another mighty cheer rends the morning air. Then another and another as one by one the children are brought by strong hands along the rope, strained to the uttermost by the fury of the torrent.
Then, as all brave captains are last to leave a sinking ship, this dear mother is the last to leave her falling house. When all her four children have been taken to safety she comes herself and, with the help of her rescuers, makes her way to land. What a cheer the people give for her!
Her children won’t soon forget how they were saved from death that dreadful night. It was a mother’s faith against a flood.
The Story Book, Character Building Stories for Children, RHPA, ©1964, 81–89