ANXIOUS HOURS
"Where are you going to head for first?" asked Blake, as he and Joe
began "stowing away" their belongings, while Mr. Ringold stood at the
wheel.
"For that island, where the hotel clerk said our friends went to make
pictures," replied the manager. "I know about where it is, as nearly as
he could tell me, and if they're not on the one they said they were
going to, they may be on another, for there are several together."
"Do you imagine they would be there all this while?" asked Joe, as he
got out one of the moving picture cameras, for they were at a place now
where some thrilling views could be made.
"It is just possible they are," answered Mr. Ringold. "They may have
landed, taken some pictures, and then something may have happened."
"Such as--what?" asked Mr. Piper. Of late he had not made as many gloomy
predictions as usual. Perhaps he appreciated what Mr. Ringold said,
about there being enough trouble without adding to it by needlessly
looking on the dark side.
"Well, their boat may have gone adrift in the rising waters, and they
may have been forced to remain on the island," went on the theatrical
man. "And there has been so much confusion and suffering out here, that
their appeals for help, in case they could make any, may have gone
unheeded.
"So I think we'll head for that island, and see if we can get any clews.
It is a sort of forlorn hope, but that is the only starting point I can
think of. How is she running, Blake?" he asked, for Blake was attending
to the motor, while Joe focused the camera.
"Fine," answered the young engineer. "She's a powerful engine, all
right."
"She'll need to be," was the grim comment of the manager. "There is some
power to this current," and he looked over the side of the bow, at the
onrushing, muddy Mississippi. Though they were in the upper reaches of
the big stream, it had so increased in size that it was almost a
constant menace to the motor boat.
Not only was the current powerful, but there were waves as large as
those that might have been encountered on some bay of the ocean; great,
yellow muddy waves, that curled after the _Clytie_ as though to
overwhelm her. But the craft was in skillful hands.
"Look at that!" cried Blake, as they swept around a bend, and saw, in
the flood, several small houses being carried down together. "Get that
Joe!"
"I'm getting it!" shouted the young operator, as he turned the lens of
the camera in that direction, and began grinding away at the handle.
"I'll put you over closer, so you can get a better view," called Mr.
Ringold, as he headed the bow of the motor boat in the direction of the
floating dwellings.
As he did so there came a shout from shore, and several men were see to
put off in some small boats. They pointed at the houses, and seemed much
excited.
"I wonder what that means?" spoke C. C., as he came from the enclosed
cabin, out on the deck where Joe had the camera. "I wonder if they think
they can haul those houses to shore?"
"It doesn't seem possible--with only their small boats," remarked Blake.
"They may be able to anchor them, though, and save them when the waters
go down."
"You'd need an ocean tug to pull them out of this current," remarked
Joe, as he continued to take moving pictures. "But there must be
something up, or those men wouldn't be so excited."
"Maybe they want us to try and tow the houses," suggested Blake.
"Well, we're not going to do it," decided the manager. "It's too risky,
though I'd try it if it was to save life."
He had hardly spoken, when the group of houses swirled about in the
current. At an upper window of one of them appeared a woman, holding in
her arms a baby. She stretched the child out toward those approaching
her in small boats, as if appealing for help.
"Say, we've got to save her!" cried Blake.
"That's right!" agreed the manager.
He headed the motor boat more directly for the floating dwellings, but
he had to use caution, as they were entangled in a mass of logs, jagged
timbers, and other debris, that made it difficult to approach.
And then, by some strange freak of fate, the houses swirled about again,
and the woman and child could no longer be seen. But the dwellings
remained upright, so it was fairly certain that the two were safe in the
upper room--at least for a time.
Then the current carried the houses on some hidden sandbar, and they
rose higher from the water, tilted to one side, and remained there.
"Look out!" cried Mr. Piper, as the manager continued to urge the motor
boat onward. "We may go aground ourselves."
"Can't help it--we've got to try to save that woman and baby!" cried Mr.
Ringold.
But there was no need for him to risk the _Clytie_, for the small boats,
that had put out from shore came up then, and could more easily approach
the stranded dwellings.
"We'll take 'em ashore, friends," said one of the men, in a small boat,
to Mr. Ringold. "Just as much obliged to you, though. Better keep out
from here, or you may stave a hole in your craft."
"Just what I was thinking," the manager replied. "We'll stand by,
though, and give you all the help we can."
Then began the rescue of the woman and child from the house on the
sandbar. It was accomplished with some difficulty, and the motor boat
was in a position where all the details could be seen well. Joe had a
good position for his camera, and he ground away at the handle, getting
a series of fine views.
The woman, sobbing hysterically, and clasping the child in her arms, was
lifted into one of the boats, and wrapped in blankets, for it was
beginning to rain again.
"Better let me tow you ashore--or near to it," proposed Mr. Ringold.
"Yes, it would help some--it's hard rowing," answered one of the
rescuers. So the motor craft was swung about until the three small
boats, which had come out to the houses, could be made fast to her, and
then she pulled them across the swollen river to the shore.
The boys did not hear the details of how the woman came to be swept away
in her house. It was only one of many cases of people being caught in
the suddenly rising waters.
Approaching as near shore as was safe, on account of the floating masses
of debris, our friends cast off the towing ropes, and proceeded on their
way.
"Well, I got some fine pictures, anyhow," declared Joe, as he put away
his camera, for it was now raining so hard that no successful views
could be made.
They kept on down the mighty Mississippi, turning now and then to avoid
obstructions, and at times being obliged to swerve almost directly
across, which was not easy on account of the powerful current.
The river was constantly making new channels for itself, and leaving old
ones, but the Clytie was a boat of small draught, and could easily
navigate in shallow places.
"Suppose we eat something?" proposed Blake, for it was nearly noon.
Considerable time had passed at the rescue work.
There was a small gasoline stove in the cabin of the boat, and they had
with them plenty of supplies, so it was not long before a meal was in
preparation. And, in spite of their anxiety about the missing ones, our
friends managed to eat heartily. Even Mr. Piper seemed to lose most of
his gloom, as he passed his cup for more coffee.
"We ought to be near that island now," observed Mr. Ringold, as he
looked across at the shore nearest to which they then were. "The hotel
clerk said it was opposite a certain town, with two white church
steeples. There are the two white church steeples he mentioned."
"There isn't much of the town left," said Blake. "It's pretty well under
water." And that was a fact. The lower part was submerged, and as they
came up to it, men could be seen going about in boats, removing
belongings from houses, the lower floors of which were already under
water.
No lives appeared to be in danger, for the people had doubtless fled to
higher ground on seeing the rising waters. On the hills back of the town
could be noted a number of tents, where, very likely, the refugees had
taken up their abode.
"But I don't see anything of an island," said the manager, as he peered
over the turbulent stretch of muddy waters.
"If it was opposite this town, and the lower part of the town is under
water, the island is probably covered up by now," observed Blake,
grimly.
"I'm afraid so," agreed the manager. "We'll go over there, and make some
inquiries."
By going toward shore they were not in such a strong current, and soon
the motor boat was cruising along through what had been business
streets.
"This is like being in Venice," remarked Joe, as the _Clytie_ puffed
slowly along between rows of stores and houses, from which men, in
boats, were removing goods and furniture.
"Looking for someone?" called a man, who had, in a big scow, an odd
collection of household effects, and stuff from a general store.
"For a company of moving picture players," answered Mr. Ringold. "They
came down to Pin Island, one day last week, to make some drama scenes,
and they haven't come back. Can you tell us where Pin Island is?"
"I can tell you where it _was_," said the man grimly. "Right out there,"
and he pointed to a spot where nothing but a swirling rush of muddy
waters could be seen. "That's where the island _was_, and it's probably
there yet, but you can't see it," he added.
"Did you hear, or see, anything of the players?" asked Mr. Piper.
"Well, I did hear that some of them were over there, just before the
waters got so high," the man answered. "But what became of them I don't
know. I'm very sorry, but I can't help you."
"Well, this is some information, anyhow," spoke Mr. Ringold. "We know we
are on the right track."
"You'd best look for 'em below here," the man in the scow went on. "They
couldn't hardly make their way against the current. You'll probably find
'em below. There's higher ground there, and they'd have a better
chance."
"Is there another town near here?" asked Joe.
"Yes, Bellmead, about four miles below. They've got a good levee there,
and aren't so badly off as we are."
"Then we'll go to Bellmead," decided Mr. Ringold.
The motor boat was turned out from the submerged streets, and into the
open river again. It was still raining--quite hard now--and to try for
pictures was out of the question, as the sky was dark and lowering.
Keeping out of the middle of the Mississippi, and along one edge,
proceeding over what, when the stream went down, would be ruined farming
fields, the motor boat went on her way.
"That must be Bellmead," announced Joe, as they made a turn into a
"cut-off," or place where the river had made a new channel for itself.
He pointed to a place below them, as they could see, more favorably
situated than most along the Mississippi. It was protected by a high
levee, or bank of earth and stone, and against this the waters were
beating.
"We'll land here, and spend the night," decided Mr. Ringold. "No use
going on in the darkness, and we may get some news of our friends here."
But they were disappointed in this last. No trace of the missing moving
picture players could be had.
"Yes, there's a hotel where you can stay," said a man, one of several on
the levee, "but you may have to get out in a hurry."
"Why?" Blake wanted to know.
"Because this levee is weakening, and if it gives way the flood will be
worse than ever."
As he spoke many more men came up on the bank, evidently prepared for
work. Back in the town, also, could be seen long lines of negro
laborers, with wheelbarrows.
"We're going to pile all the dirt we can on the levee," said the man,
who appeared to be in charge. "It's going to be an all-night job."
"Then let us help!" begged Mr. Ringold. "We've got to tie up here over
night, and our safety, as well as yours, will depend on it. Let us
help."
"Sure!" cried Joe and Blake, and Mr. Piper nodded his assent also.
"Well, we need all the help we can get," spoke the man on the bank. "Of
course the colored men will do the rough work, bringing up the dirt in
barrows, and bags, but they need to be directed. You can help at that."
And then ensued anxious hours. The work of strengthening the levee, to
keep the river away from the town, began at once, and was kept up all
night, by the light of flaring torches.