“Boats will be putting out from the bluffs plentifully, soon,” said Rice.  “Before to-morrow sunset all Kaskaskia and its goods and chattels will be moved to the uplands.”

“I wonder what became of the poor cows,” mused Angelique.  “They were turned out to the common pasture before the storm.”

“Some of them were carried down by the rivers, and some swam out to the uplands.  It is a strange predicament for the capital of a great Territory.  But these rich lowlands were made by water, and if they can survive overflow they must be profited by it.”

“What effect will this have on the election?” inquired Peggy, and Rice laughed.

“You can’t put us back on our ordinary level, Miss Peggy.  We are lifted above elections for the present.”

“Here is a boat!” she exclaimed, and the slaves at the other window hailed Father Olivier as he tried to steady himself at the angle formed by the roofs.

Angelique looked out, but Rice sat still beside his sister.

“Are you all quite safe?” shouted the priest.

“Quite, father.  The slaves were brought in, and we are all in the attic.”

“Keep up your courage and your prayers.  As soon as this strong wind dies away they will put out from shore for you.”

“Colonel Menard has already been here and taken part of the family.”

“Has he?”

“Yes, father; though tante-gra’mere is afraid to venture yet, so we remain with her.”

They could see the priest, indistinctly, sitting in a small skiff, which he tried to keep off the roof with a rough paddle.

“Where did you find a boat, father?”

“I think it is one the negroes had on the marsh by the levee.  It lodged in my gallery, and by the help of the saints I am trying to voyage from house to house, as far as I can, and carry a little encouragement.  I have the parish records here with me; and if this vessel capsizes, their loss would be worse for this parish than the loss of me.”

“But, father, you are not trying to reach the land in that frail canoe?”

“Not yet, my daughter; not until some of the people are taken out.  I did intend to venture for help, but the ringing of the bells has been of service to us.  The sexton will stay in the belfry all night.  I was able to get him there by means of this boat.”

“Come up here until the wind dies down, Monsieur Olivier,” urged Peggy.  “That little tub is not strong enough to carry you.  I have seen it.  The slaves made it, with scarcely any tools, of some boards from the old Jesuit College.”

“The little tub has done good service to-night, mademoiselle; and I must get as far as the tavern, at least, to carry news of their families to men there.  Antoine Lamarche’s child is dead, and his family are on the roof.  I was able to minister to its parting soul; and I set the others, for safety, astride the roof-pole, promising them heavy penance if they moved before help came.  He ought now to take this boat and go to them, if I can put him in heart to do it.”