POOR JO.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 909, 29 April 1871, Page 3

POOR JO.

{From the Australasian, April 15.) [Conclusion.] But it did not lift, and rumour of evil came. Up the country, by Parsham and Merryvale and Black Adder's Gully, there were whole tracts of grass land under water. The neighbouring station of Hall's, in the mountains, was a swamp. The roads were bogged for miles, Tim Doolan was compelled to leave his dray and bullocks at Tom and Jerry's, and ride for his life before the advancing waters. The dams were brimming at Quartzborough, St. Roy reservoir was running over. It was reported by little M'Cleod, the sheepdealer, that the old bridge afc the Little Glimmera had been carried away. Ifc was reported that Old Man Horn, whose residence overlooked the river, had fastened a bigger hook to a longer pole (there was a legend extant to the effect that Old Man Horn had once hooked a body from the greedy river, and after emptying its pockets, had softly started it down stream again), and was waiting behind his ricketty door, rubbing his withered hands gleefully. Young Barham rode over to Quartzborough to get M'Compass, the shire engineer, to look at his new dam. Then the coach stopped running, and then Flash Harry, galloping through the township at night, like the ghost rider in Goethe's ghastly ballad, brought the terrible news — The Floods were Up, and the Glimmera Bank: and Bank at the old Crossing Place ! "It will be here in less than an hour," he shouted, under Coppinger's red lamps ; " make for the high ground if you love your lives;" and so wet, wild-e>ed, and white, splashed off into the darkness if haply he might warn the poor folk down the river of the rushing death that was coming upon them. Those who were there have told of the horrors of that night. How the muddy street, scarce reclaimed from the river bed, was suddenly full of startled half-dressed folk. How Coppinger's was crowded to thp garret. How the schoolmaster dashed off, stumbling through the rain , to warn them at Seven Creeks. How bullies grew pale with fear, and men hitherto mild of speech and modest of mien, grew fiery hot with wrath at incapacity, and fiercely self-assertive in relegating fools to their place in the bewildered social economy of that general Overturn. How, when the roaring flood came down, bearing huge trees, fragments of houses, grotesquely terrible waifs, and strays of household furniture upon its yellow and turbid bosom, timid women grew brave, and brave men hid their faces for a while. How Old man Horn saved two lives that night. How Widow Ray's cottage — with her light still burning in the window sill — was swept off, and carried miles down stream. How Archy Cameron's hayrick stranded in the middle of the township. How forty drowned sheep were floated into the upper windows of the Royal Mail. How Patsy Barnes' cradle, with its new-barn occupant, sucking an unconscious thumb, was found jammed into the bight of the windlass in Magby's killing-yard. How all this took place has been told, I Bay, by those who were present, and needs not repeating. But one thing which took place shall be chronicled here. When the terror and confusion were somewhat stilled, and Coppinger, by dint of brandy and blankets, had got some strength and courage into the half -naked shivering creatures clustered in his ark, a sudden terrible tremorwent through the crowd like an electric current. In some mysterious way, no one knew how originating or by what fed and fostered, men came to hear that Barham's dam was breaking ! That is to say, that in ten minutes or less all the land that lay between Coppinger's and tbe river would be a roaring waste of water — that in less than ten minutes the Nine Creeks Station, with all its inmates, would be swept off the face of the earth— that in less than ten minutes two hundred square feet of water would ba let loose upon the low land near the river, and that if Coppinger's escaped it would be a thing to thank God for.

After the first sharp agony of self-appre-hension, one thought came to each — Miss Jane. " Good God," cries Coppinger, "can nobody get to her ?" Two men volunteered to go. "It's no good," said faint-hearted Riley, the bully of the bar. " The dam '11 burst twice over 'fore you can reach the station." Ifc was likely. "I'll go myself," cries brave old Coppinger; but his wife clung to his arm, and held him back with all the weight of her maternity. " I have it," says Coppinger; " Poor Jo '11 go. Where is he ?" No one had seen him. Coppinger dashed down the stairs, splashed through the yard into the stable. The door was open, and Blackhoy, the strongest of King Cobb's horses, was missing. Coppinger flashed round the lantern he held. The mail boy's saddle had disappeared and faintly mingling with the raging wind and roaring water, died the rapid strokes of a horse's feet. Poor Jo had gone. * * * * The house was already flooded out, and they were sitting — so I was told — with their prrns round each other, not far from where aoor Barham 's body was found, when the strange, misshapen figure bestriding the huge horse, splashed desperately through the water that was once the garden. " Rescue !" cried Frank, but she only clung to him the closer. Poor Jo bit his lips at sight of the pair, and then, so Frang Smith averred, flung him one bitter scowl of hate, and dropping his deformed body from the back of the reeking horse, held out the bridle with a groan. In moments of supreme danger one divines quickly. Frank placed his betrothed upon the saddle, and sprang up behind her. If ever Blackboy was to prove his mettle he must prove it then, for already the lightning revealed a thin stream of water trickling over the surface of the dam. " But what is to become of you," crie9 Miss Jane. Poor Jo, rejecting Frank's offered hand, took ihat of Miss Jane, patted it softly, aud let it fall. He pointed te Coppinger's red light, and then to the black wall of the dam. No man could mistake the meaning of that trembling finger and those widely-opened eyes. They said, " Ride for your lives ! ride !" plainer than the mosfc eloquent tongue owned by Schoolmaster could speak. Ifc was no time for sentiment, and for the schoolmaster there was but one life to be saved or lost that night. He drove his bare heels into the good horse's sides, and galloped down the hill. " God bless you, Jo !" cried Miss Jane. Poor Jo smiled, and then falling on his knees waited, straining hia ears to listen. Ifc was nofc ten minutes, but it seemed ten hours, when through the roar he heard a distant shout go up. They were saved. Thank God ! And then the dam burst with a roar like thunder, and he was whirled away amid a chaos of tree trunks. They found his little weak body four days afterwards, battered aud bruised almost out of recognition; but his great brave soul had gone on to Judgment.