Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
Now Tweed, unlike all other rivers of my knowledge, rises terribly at
the first rain and travels slowly, so that Tweedsmuir may be under five
feet of water and Peebles high and dry. This makes the whole valley a
place of exceeding danger in sultry weather, for no man knows when a
thunderstorm may break in the hills and send the stream down a raging
torrent. This, too, makes it possible to hear word of a flood before it
comes, and by God’s grace to provide against it.
The green was soon deserted. I rushed down to the waterside houses,
which were in the nearest peril, and in shorter time than it takes to
tell, we had the people out and as much of their belongings as were
worth the saving; then we hastened to the low-lying cottages on Tweed
Green and did likewise. Some of the folk seemed willing to resist,
because, as they said, "Whae kenned but that the body micht be a leear
and they werena to hae a’ this wark for naething?" For the great floods
were but a tradition, and only the old men had seen the ruin which the
spate could work. Nevertheless, even these were convinced by a
threatening sky and a few words from the newsbearer’s trenchant tongue.
Soon the High Street and the wynds were thick with household belongings,
and the Castle Hill was crowded with folk to see the coming of the
flood.
By this time the grim line of black had grown over half the sky, and
down fell great drops of rain into the white, sun-baked channel. It was
strange to watch these mighty splashes falling into the little stagnant
pools and the runlets of flowing water. And still the close, thick heat
hung over all, and men looked at the dawnings of the storm with sweat
running over their brows. With the rain came a mist—a white ghastly
haze which obliterated the hills and came down nigh to the stream. A
sound, too, grew upon our ears, at first far away and dim, but
increasing till it became a dull hollow thunder, varied with a strange
crackling, swishing noise which made a man eery to listen to. Then all
of a sudden the full blast of the thing came upon us. Men held their
breaths as the wind and rain choked them and drove them back. It was
scarce possible to see far before, but the outlines of the gorge of
Neidpath fleeted through the drift, whence the river issued. Every man
turned his eyes thither and strained them to pierce the gloom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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