FIRE AND FLOOD
For a moment Joe and Mr. Ringold did not know whether or not Blake was
joking. But the lad in the bow cried again:
"Steer to the right, or you'll be into the barn, sure! It's directly in
our course!"
And then Blake, springing back out of the front of the boat, gave his
chum and the manager a clear view ahead, for he had been rather
obstructing their vision. The two at the wheel saw a small barn,
swirling around in the water. It was upright, and was directly in their
path.
With a quick spin of the wheel Joe turned the rudder, and the _Clytie_
glided past the barn, her rub-streak fairly grazing the structure. The
barn had been hidden from view by a large tree which had drifted down
with it, and the sudden separation of the foliage and the farm
structure, revealed the latter to Blake just in time.
Then, as the motor boat swept on, there came from the interior of the
barn a loud:
"Moo!"
At the same moment a cow stuck her head out of a small window, and
looked piteously at the rescuers.
"Too bad! We can't do anything for you, old cow!" cried Blake. "I guess
you're done for, unless your barn floats to shore. I wish we had room
for you," he went on, whimsically, "for we could use fresh milk very
nicely." They had been obliged to put up with the condensed variety thus
far.
The barn swept on down stream, turning around and around, as the boat
went past it, the cow's head appearing at each turn, thrust through the
window.
With a small moving picture camera, Blake got a few views of this odd
scene, to add to the others already taken.
They decided to tie up for the night just above a small town, that was
far enough from the banks of the Mississippi to have escaped the flood,
thus far. But the inhabitants were in constant fear, and all available
men were at work strengthening the levee.
Our friends managed to purchase a few supplies, and they got some fresh
milk, which luxury Charlie had missed very much, for he was accustomed
to drinking it.
The little boy was quite fretful after supper, and cried for his lost
home and parents. But Blake induced him to listen to some fairy stories,
and finally Charlie House fell asleep, and was put in his bunk.
"Poor little chap," murmured Blake, as he tucked the child in snugly.
"Poor little chap!" And then Blake thought of Birdie Lee, and the others
of the lost theatrical party.
"If you boys will stay here with the boat, Mr. Piper and I will go to
town and see if there is any answer to the telegram I sent this morning,
from the upper village," said Mr. Ringold, when dusk had fallen. He had
taken this method, instead of waiting for an answer to his wire. A
message had been sent to the New York office, asking if any news had
been received of the missing ones, and a request was made that any reply
might be sent to Canton, which was the village above which they were now
tied up.
"Sure, we'll stay here," agreed Joe. "And I hope you get some word."
But it was a vain hope, there being no reply to the message of inquiry.
"The river is slowly rising," remarked Mr. Piper, with something of a
return of his former gloomy manner. "It's going up about an inch and a
half an hour. The townspeople are afraid it will break the levee, which
is only a temporary one."
"I wouldn't want to live out in this country," commented Blake. "This
flood is likely to occur every year."
"Oh, I guess they're used to it, somewhat," spoke Mr. Ringold. "But this
is the worst they ever had. I'm really alarmed for our friends."
"I've been alarmed all along," went on C. C. "That is, of course there
may be a chance for them," he said, quickly, for he had made up his
mind, at least while on this voyage, to try to look on the bright side
of things.
"I sincerely hope there will be a chance," murmured Mr. Ringold. "I
would feel very badly, indeed, if I thought they were lost while making
pictures for me."
For some time that evening the rescuers sat about in the small cabin,
talking over the situation. For some reason, though no one could account
for it, there was a feeling of gloom in the hearts of all. Perhaps the
fact that no word had come from New York induced it. But, certain it is,
that no one felt very cheerful.
They were moored near shore, and just above where the temporary levee,
to protect the village, began. Below, above, and in front of them,
swirled the dreary waste of waters. The Mississippi had spread itself
out to more than twice its usual width, and had inundated much valuable
land. It had washed away many houses and farm buildings, and many towns
and cities were partly under the flood.
And there was no certainty that the storm was over. True, the skies
brightened now and then, but, as night fell, the heavens were overcast
once more, and the wind, shifting, seemed to promise more downpours.
"I guess I'll put double water-proof wrappings on the films, to-night,"
said Joe, just before he prepared for bed. "I certainly wouldn't want
anything to happen to them now."
Blake aided him in the work, and the boxes of exposed films were made as
secure as possible against dampness and water.
In the middle of the night Blake awoke. He heard a curious roaring,
throbbing noise on the deck over his head.
"What's that?" he asked, speaking aloud, involuntarily.
"More rain," answered Joe, in a low voice. He, too, had been awakened.
The storm had started again, and the drops were pelting down on the
afflicted land.
"This will make the river still higher," went on Blake. "I wish we were
out of this--and had the missing ones, and Charlie's folks, safe."
"So do I," answered Joe. "My! but I'm sick of the sound of rain!"
The little boy, in the bunk near Blake, awakened, either from hearing
the talk, or from the noise of the storm.
"I'm hungry! I want my mamma!" he called.
"I'll get you something to eat," said Blake, kindly, "and maybe mamma
will come in the morning."
He got up, and made some cracker and jam sandwiches for Charlie, who
munched them contentedly, and went to sleep again.
Blake then opened the cabin door, and looked out.
"How is it?" asked Joe.
"Pretty fierce!" murmured Blake, as he crept back to his bunk. "Pretty
fierce. It's a raging torrent out there."
Morning brought no cessation of the rain, though it was not coming down
quite so hard after the dreary dawn broke. As our friends sat down to
breakfast, they could see the alarmed villagers working frantically at
the levee. For the rising waters were already lapping the top of it.
Long lines of men, carrying bags and baskets of dirt and stones, piled
them along the bank--the frail bank that alone stood between the flood
and their homes! The boys took some pictures of the work, and then,
casting off the mooring line, the trip down the river was resumed.
Although it rained, Blake and Joe were not idle. They knew that many
pictures were needed, and they set to work to get them, though they
would not be as good as those made in clear weather.
After dinner, rounding a bend in the stream, they came in sight of a
town the greater part of which was under water, and, as they steered
toward it, Mr. Ringold having said they would make a stop, Joe cried
out:
"Look! There's a house on fire!"
"So there is!" shouted Blake. "Fire and flood together! It couldn't be
much worse!"
Those on the boat looked with awe, and feelings of deep sorrow, on the
unhappy scene. The fire seemed gaining headway, in spite of the rain,
and, as they approached, a second house caught from the first, the black
smoke rolling skyward.
"Put over there!" cried Mr. Ringold to C. C., who was steering. "Maybe
we can help them--or rescue someone! Put over!"