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Updated: May 7, 2025
The unselfish and noble-hearted cared for others, sacrificed themselves, and in many cases were the means of saving life. Among these last were Baptiste Warder and Winklemann. "I vill valk to de settlement," said the latter, one morning towards the middle of January, as he rose from his lair and began to prepare breakfast. "I'll go with you," said Warder. "It's madness to stop here.
I say, let go your canoe and hold on to me," cried Lambert, in excitement, but the man spoken to made no reply, and would not let go the wrecked canoe. Lambert therefore hauled him powerfully and slowly alongside until his visage was level with the gunwale. Just then a gleam of moonlight broke forth and revealed the face of Herr Winklemann!
That worthy German was a brilliant exception to his countrymen in the matter of tobacco. Victor, under the influence of example, was attempting in a quiet way to acquire the art, but with little success. He took to the pipe awkwardly. "Vat vor you smok?" asked Winklemann, in a tone of contempt to Victor. "It is clear zat you do not loike it."
"Ay, what's left o' me; and here's the remains o' Winklemann," said Warder, pointing to the cadaverous face of the starving German, who followed him. Need we say that the hunters received a kindly welcome by the Ravenshaw family, as they sank exhausted into chairs. The story of starvation, suffering, and death was soon told at least in outline. "You are hungry.
"Mine moder," he replied, and hurried on. Herr Winklemann had a mother as old as the hills, according to his own report, and any one who beheld her feeble frame and wrinkled visage might well have believed him.
Winklemann had just come from it, having failed to find his mother. He was still suffering from the effects of his recent accident, but he could not wait. He would continue the search till he died. Rollin was of the same mind, though neither he nor his friend appeared likely to die soon. They resolved to continue the search together.
Ere long they sighted the stage on which the women had been previously discovered singing hymns. They did not sing now. Their provisions were failing, their hopes of an abatement in the flood were dying out, and they no longer refused to accept deliverance from their somewhat perilous position. "Have you seen anything of Herr Winklemann lately?" asked Lambert of one of the women.
Both dogs were killed, but, strange to say, the child was unhurt. The supply of meat procured at this time, although very acceptable, did not last long, and the group with which Winklemann was connected was soon again reduced to sore straits. It was much the same with the scattered parties elsewhere, though they succeeded by hard work in securing enough of meat to keep themselves alive.
He had been there so often of late that he felt half ashamed of this early morning visit. Lovers easily find excuses for visits. He resolved to ask if Herr Winklemann had been seen passing that morning, as he wished his companionship on the plains the shallow deceiver! "Good-morning, Cora," he said, on entering the hall.
Poor Winklemann let his paddle drop and sank almost double with his face in his hands. "Mine moder," was all he could say, as he groaned heavily. In a few seconds he recovered with a start and bade the man in the bow paddle for his life. Winklemann, of course, knew that the house must have floated downwards with the current, if it had not been utterly overwhelmed.
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