Bing/Chapter 9

On that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday morning when the sun arose and the good people of Shadyville looked out over the landscape, they were filled with joy and gratitude to see that the old town was still there. In some miraculous way the flimsy dike of sand-bags had held. The square colonial houses still stood on Broad Street, with the great elms standing guard ​over them. But this Shadyville looked more like an inland lake than a peaceful New England town. Its commons were lagoons, while its roads and sidewalks were rivers. Many of the outbuildings were gone, but the houses and barns still stood. The water in the river was four feet above the level of that in the town, so there was still grave danger, but the people of Shadyville had hopes.

Immediately after breakfast, the good people with whom the Brownings were staying took them in their automobile on a sightseeing trip. They went along a street at the back of the village which was on higher ground, and so had a good view of the village. It was water, water everywhere. Mrs. Browning, who was using the field-glass, reported to the others.

"Sunshine Cottage is still there," she said. "Everything seems to be all right, ​but I guess my carpets and furniture on the first floor have got a good wetting. I wish I could get a glimpse of Bing and the Professor, but it is too far away for that. The door which leads to the back piazza is open. I thought I locked it before we left, and the hen-house is gone. I did not notice that before."

"We can easily spare it," said Mr. Browning, who was overjoyed that Sunshine Cottage was still safe. "We will give it as an offering to the water gods."

Then came the report from up north that the Werner's Falls dam had probably not gone out, although the water had been so high the day before that engineers were not sure. The crest of the flood would reach Shadyville at noon and, if the dikes held a few hours longer, the worst would be over. Noon came, and the crest of the flood swept by the marooned town and the ​dikes held. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the water had begun to fall and, by sundown, it had fallen a foot, and Shadyville breathed easier.

When the sun arose on Monday morning and the people of the marooned town again beheld their village, to their great surprise they found that most of the water which had flooded the streets, roadways, and the common had disappeared. There was still good boating in the low places and it would be several days before the water entirely disappeared, but the roads were again in shape for travel. So the Brownings lost no time in going back to Sunshine Cottage. They went in an automobile over the road they had traveled in a boat two days before.

"Everything looks all right," said Mrs. Browning as they mounted the steps to the front piazza.

​"I don't see why Bing isn't scratching at the door," remarked Mr. Browning as he unlocked it.

But a hurried search of the house revealed the astonishing fact that Bing and the Professor were not there. They had disappeared as though by magic.

"Are you sure you saw them in the garret window?" inquired Mr. Browning for the third time, after he and Mrs. Browning had ransacked every room.

"Perfectly," she replied, "and the officer saw them also. It is the queerest thing I ever heard of."

So, while the Brownings are wondering about the strange disappearance of their dog and cat, let us go back to that first night when they sat by the garret window and watched the boat taking the master and mistress far away, and see what happened.

​With the disappearance of the family, Bing and the old cat did not linger long in the garret, but soon returned to the first floor where they wandered restlessly from room to room wondering what it was all about.

But it was not until the water began creeping in over the floor that they really got excited. Then Bing noticed that it was spoiling his dog biscuit in the kitchen, so he carried them up-stairs, one at a time, and finally both he and the Professor took refuge in the second story.

They slept in the guest chamber on the best bed until about two o'clock in the morning and then became restless because their master and mistress did not return. In the course of their wanderings about the house, they came to the door leading to the up-stairs back porch. It was partly open, and Bing and the Professor went ​out on the back porch. But this gave them little consolation, for at the foot of the stairway was a great lake, and neither dog nor cat had any mind to escape in that way. Then they noticed the board leading from the back piazza to the roof of the hen-house which the Brownings used when they scattered grain to the birds. Bing finally led the way across to the hen-house, and the Professor followed.

They fidgeted about on the roof for several minutes and finally Bing turned to go back to the piazza, but, to his surprise, there was a broad gap between the end of the plank and the hen-house roof. Then it was that he noticed that the hen-house was moving, not rapidly but steadily, and this movement soon carried them out into the orchard where the strong current took this clumsy craft and, in another minute, the little hound and the big yellow cat had ​started on their perilous journey towards Long Island Sound.

As the hen-house swept out into the current and started steadily southward, Bing appreciated the fact that a strange and irresistible force was carrying him away from Sunshine Cottage and his folks. It was a force that he could not fight, and this fact filled him with terror. He walked excitedly up and down on the hen-house roof for several minutes, then he sat down on his tail and gave vent to a series of howls. It was indeed a terrifying scene.

Overhead were the heavens with their countless stars and beneath was the water, seemingly as endless as the sky and also dotted with stars. The trees and buildings all had their counterpart in dark unearthly shadows in the water. There were few sounds save the distant roar of ​the river and the occasional splash of the officers' oars as they rowed up and down Broad Street on their strange, unearthly beat.

Just opposite the lower end of Broad Street, the hen-house grounded for half an hour, and Bing might have escaped as the water was shallow here, but he did not know it, as the shadows at this point made it look dark and forbidding. But finally the wind shifted and there was just enough push in it to start the hen-house anew on its perilous ride. As soon as the clumsy building drifted into the meadows below Broad Street, it felt the titanic pull of the great river and quickened its pace. A mile below Shadyville the river turned sharply to the left and here, as it swirled back to the right to resume its southern direction, it had piled up a strange conglomeration of wreckage upon a small ​meadow. There were planks, logs, trees and bushes, hen-houses and hen-coops, corn-cribs, gates and fences, and scattered in among this medley were chairs, tables, and bedsteads, all articles of a more human touch. At one point a shiny square piano was ended up between a corn-crib and a portion of a bridge. But this was not all. The tragedy was even worse than this, for there were dead cows in the wreckage, also horses. Good swimmers that they were, they could not stem this terrible tide. Who can imagine the fearful sights that little Bing saw as he shivered on the roof of the hen-house while this strange procession went by? For it is a matter of history that, during this flood, three thousand cows and hundreds of horses, pigs, and sheep went floating to the sea, while one hundred and fifty men, women, and children found a watery grave ​somewhere between northern Vermont and Long Island Sound.

After two hours more, débris piled up behind the hen-house, and the rising water forced it again into the current, and once more little Bing and the Professor began their strange ride to the sea. Eight miles below this spot was the great dam at Millville. Ordinarily, at this point, the water took a thirty-foot drop, and even now, at flood time, the fall was fifteen feet, so when the hen-house should finally take that plunge it would turn over and over and Bing and the old cat would find a watery grave. An hour passed and they drifted slowly by the Pelham river bridge which was partly submerged. They had covered two of the eight perilous miles, and the great dam and fatal plunge were now but six miles away. Another half-hour, and they saw the end of old Mount ​Wachusett being left behind. It was now about four miles to the dam; two more of these miles had been covered, and it seemed that only a miracle could save little Bing and his companion on their strange craft, when the unexpected happened. And so it is in our human lives; often the deepest darkness precedes the dawn, and "joy cometh in the morning."

Now it happened that Billy Anderson who lived just two miles above the Millville dam was out in his motor-boat looking for valuable wreckage. He was provided with a long rope and grappling-iron, and whenever he saw anything that he thought would be of value, he caught the article with his grappling-iron and towed it ashore.

Bing, having been anxiously searching the water in every direction for possible help, discovered Billy long before the man

​saw him. The frantic barking of the dog soon attracted the young man's attention and he looked in every direction, as sound coming over the water is very deceptive. Finally he espied the hen-house and turned his motor-boat towards it. Then it was that he noticed the small hound perched on the ridge-pole. At the sight of the boat, Bing redoubled his barking, fairly prancing up and down in his excitement and, finally, as the boat drew nearer, the Professor crowded up close to him, wishing also to add his persuasion.

As Billy came close to the hen-house, not wishing to come in collision with it, he headed the boat up-stream and Bing thought the young man had passed them by, and his joyful barking was turned to dolorous howling. But Billy's next move was firmly to fasten the grappling-iron to a window-sill, and then he headed the ​motor-boat towards shore, but the current was so strong and the hen-house was so clumsy that it was fifteen minutes before he made very much headway with it. Both hen-house and motor-boat went steadily down-stream, but Billy could see that, little by little, he was getting the clumsy craft towards the shore, and finally he brought it to rest on terra firma just half a mile above the great dam.

It was but the work of a few minutes to climb to the roof and help Bing into the boat, and the young man soon followed with the Professor under his arm. After making the hen-house secure to a tree near by, Billy set out for his own home, feeling that he had accomplished quite a stroke. But it was not until he was inside the house and had looked at Bing's collar that he was able to identify the little hound for, on the collar, he read: ​"Name, Bing. Owner, Lawrence Browning, Shadyville, Mass." But when young Anderson tried to call Sunshine Cottage, the operator told him that the house was empty, as nearly all of Shadyville had been evacuated. The following day he received the same report. No one seemed to know where the Brownings had gone. It was on the afternoon of the second day after the strange rescue that young Anderson got out his motor-car and Bing promptly took his place on the front seat beside the driver, while the Professor was content to ride between them.

The Brownings were just at the height of their discussion as to what had become of Bing and the Professor, and Mr. Browning was outlining a plan for their recovery, when they heard a sharp bark in front of the house. There was only one dog in the world that barked like that, and ​it was Bing. So both master and mistress hurried to the door just in time to see him jump from the car and come bounding towards them with great leaps, and he was closely followed by the Professor.

Such a home-coming and such a reunion had never been seen at Sunshine Cottage before, and we may be certain that the young man who had rescued the Browning pets came in for his share of glory and reward.