OFF AGAIN
"More dirt over here!"
"Come on now, boys! Lively's the word!"
"Hustle along!"
"Is she rising any more?"
"Strike up a song, boys, and run; don't walk!"
These were only a few of the remarks that could be heard along the levee
that night. The rain drizzled down at intervals, as the colored men, in
long lines, with wheelbarrows, brought up earth and stones, to
strengthen the banks against which the muddy Mississippi beat and
surged. The levee was like a dam along the course of the stream, and
back of this dam lay the town. If the levee gave way the town might be
wiped out.
Now and then a group of the negro laborers would break out into what was
probably some old plantation song, and to the rude but not unmusical
melody their feet moved in quicker time, as they brought up the earth
and stones for filling.
"Put more of it in bags," directed Colonel Whitmore, who, as the boys
learned, was the man to whom they had first spoken. "It will hold better
in bags, boys. Lively now!"
And while squads of men, up the hill where the dirt was being dug,
shoveled the earth into bags, others wheeled them down and dumped, or
placed, them where directed by the white men.
Blake, Joe, Mr. Ringold and C. C. Piper helped in this work, and though
they were only requested to oversee the negroes, they did not hesitate
to use their own muscles when they were needed.
In fact, Colonel Whitmore himself, and his friends, worked harder than
did any of the black men, who were naturally slow.
"If she goes, boys, it's all up with us, and we'll have to leave
everything, and take to the hills," the colonel said. "So be lively,
boys!"
"Come on now, everybody sing!" cried one big negro, and he fairly ran
with his heavy load, his example being followed by others.
"Oh, if we could only get some pictures of this!" exclaimed Blake,
during a lull in the levee operations.
"It's too dark," decided Joe.
"You can get some to-morrow morning," Colonel Whitmore told them. "We'll
still be here in the morning, unless the river rises too suddenly."
"Is it going up fast now?" asked Mr. Ringold.
"About an inch an hour, and that's fast enough for us," was the grim
answer, and the Southerner looked at a stick he had thrust into the bank
at the edge of the stream, to keep watch of the rate of rise. It was
marked with little notches, an inch apart, and these notches were
slowly, but gradually and relentlessly, being covered by the rising
flood of the Mississippi.
All through the night they toiled, the moving picture boys working with
feverish energy to do what they could to help save the town. There was
really no obligation on them to do this, but they felt a friendly
interest in those whose homes were in danger from the great flood.
And the boys, also, might be said to have a little selfish motive. They
wanted to get moving pictures of the work of strengthening the levee, as
this would form part of the series of stirring views they hoped to get.
Thus another of the many phases of the work of fighting the flood could
be shown.
Barrow-load after barrow-load of dirt was piled on the levee, and bags
of earth and stone placed where they would do the most good. Everyone
was working hard, by the light of the flaring torches. It was hard,
dirty and unpleasant labor, for it rained at intervals, all night.
Splashing through the mud, slipping and sliding on the treacherous
footing, Joe and Blake toiled with the rest. They wore their rubber
boots and raincoats, which, in a great measure, protected them.
And, be it said to the credit of Christopher Cutler Piper, he labored as
hard as any of the others, and never made a complaint.
"It's coming morning," said Colonel Whitmore, as he pointed to a faint
gray streak in the east. "We'll have better light to work by, soon."
Slowly the light grew, and, with the coming of the dawn, the rain
ceased--at least for a time.
"That'll give us time to catch our breaths," spoke the Southerner, with
a sigh of relief. "But she hasn't stopped rising," he added, as he
looked at the stick-gauge. "Too much water up above," and he nodded in
the direction whence the boys had come, down the stream. "It'll be days
before she goes down."
As soon as it was light enough, Blake and Joe got out a moving picture
camera, and began taking views of the work at the levee. More laborers
had come with the advent of daylight, and other white men arrived to
relieve those who had overseen the work during the hours of darkness.
The scene on the levee was a lively one, and also a dangerous one, for
the waters were beating with ever-increasing force on the sloping wall
of earth and stones, that held back the raging torrent from the town.
"This will be one great picture," murmured Joe, as he contemplated the
series of scenes.
"That is, if you get a chance to develop it, and show it," remarked Mr.
Piper.
"What do you mean?" asked Blake.
"Well, it looks to me as if this flood was going to get worse, and if we
go down stream, where the river is wider, we may not be able to pull
through."
"Hold on there!" cried Mr. Ringold, shaking a warning finger at the
actor. "Don't let your liver get away with you."
"That's so--I forgot," exclaimed C. C. "I guess we'll pull through all
right, after all," he added in more cheerful tones.
"That's the way to talk!" cried Blake, encouragingly.
That was one peculiar trait of Mr. Piper's. He could be gloomy when
there was no particular danger, save what he imagined was in prospect.
And then, when a crisis came, he rose to the emergency, and was a real
help.
The sun tried to break through the clouds, as Joe and Blake finished
their pictures, for they did not want to give too much film space
showing the mere work of strengthening the levee.
"We want to save some in case--well, not to make a gloomy
prediction--but in case the levee breaks," said Blake.
"And it looks to me as though it would go--if this rain keeps up and the
river continues to rise," said Mr. Ringold. "I don't know that we can do
much else here, so I think we might as well start off again, and
continue our search."
They had taken rooms at the hotel the evening before, but they had had
very little use of them, since they had spent the night on the levee.
Their motor boat had been tied up at a dock.
"Well, let's go up to the hotel, wash, have breakfast, and then continue
our voyage," suggested Blake. "Might as well do that as to try to cook
aboard. We'll have more room at the Mansion House."
His companions agreed with him, and they were soon enjoying the luxury
of a bath and a good meal.
They had scarcely finished, however, before a messenger came up from the
river on the run.
"Where's the folks that own that there motor, boat?" he demanded, "the
folks that helped Colonel Whitmore last night?"
"Here we are!" called Blake.
"What's the trouble?" Joe wanted to know, for the messenger appeared
excited.
"You'd better get your craft out of the way," went on the man. "The
river's started to rise suddenly, and she may be damaged where she is."
"We'll get right down to her," exclaimed Mr. Ringold, and, paying their
bill, they hastened to the dock. They found the _Clytie_ pulling and
straining at her mooring ropes, for the river had indeed risen and the
cables were taut, caused by the elevation of the boat at the dock.
"All aboard!" called Mr. Ringold, and soon they were under way again.
There was no need of their assistance at the levee, for all possible was
being done by the town inhabitants, and those on the elevated bank of
dirt and stones waved a farewell to our friends, as they went on down
the raging river.