OVERBOARD
"Well, what's the program for to-day?"
"Down the river--more pictures--and make all the inquiries we can about
our friends."
It was Joe who asked the question, and Blake who answered it. The moving
picture boys were getting breakfast aboard the motor boat, which was
still safely tied to a big tree in the cove where they had made a stop
the night before, following the fire on the cotton barge.
It had stopped raining, but the sky was not clear, and the flood was all
about them, the waters being higher than ever. There seemed to be no
cessation to the increase.
"We certainly are getting a fine lot of pictures out of it all,"
murmured Joe, as he glanced at the pile of films in the water-proof
cases.
"Yes, that's the one redeeming feature," agreed Blake, as he put the
coffee on to boil.
"How's the weather outside?" called Mr. Ringold, from his bunk.
"Nothing to boast of," replied Blake. "Looks as if it would rain more
any minute."
"Anything out there worth filming?"
"Nothing much--a lot of stuff coming down the river, but we've got
enough of that," spoke Joe. "I only wish we could have filmed the
burning cotton barge, but we had enough to do as it was, to get clear of
it ourselves."
"I should say so," came from Blake, as he recalled the danger of the
night before.
Breakfast over, preparations were made for again moving down stream. The
boys got the camera ready to take any scenes that might be worth
filming, and Mr. Ringold and C. C. took charge of the boat.
As the lines were being cast off, there came rowing along the stream,
close in to shore, so as to keep out of the strong current, a farmer in
a skiff. He seemed somewhat surprised to see our friends, but hailed
them, asking:
"I say, you folks ain't seen nothin' of a spotted cow critter around
here; have you?"
"A cow? No," answered Blake. "We saw one floating down in a barn a day
or so ago. Was she yours?"
"No, my barn's still on land, but my spotted cow critter is missin' and
I thought maybe you folks might have seen her."
"She'd have to be swimming if she was around here," remarked Joe,
looking at the waste of water.
"Yes, I reckon so," agreed the farmer. "She jest naturally likes to
wander off, that spotted cow critter of mine does. I guess she'll be
drowned some day. Well, I'll look a little farther, and then I'll git
back. Water's gittin' higher all the while. Where you folks bound for?"
"No place in particular," Blake informed him. "We're looking for some
friends of ours."
"There's been a good many lost in this flood," the farmer said. "I had
two hens and a rooster drowned in the last flood. I lived on low ground
then. I've moved back a piece since. I'm hopin' the water don't come up
to me now."
"Is there any town near by--below here?" asked Mr. Ringold. Their
supplies were getting low, and needed replenishing.
"Yes, quite a good sized one about three mile down the river. The folks
is workin' hard too, to keep the water out. There's a big shipment of
cotton on the wharves waitin' for a boat to take it off, I hear. But if
she don't come pretty soon the cotton will go floatin' off by itself.
They can't git no help to move it back, 'cause all the men are busy on
the levee."
"That might make a good picture for us," suggested Blake to Joe, when
they had called good-bye to the farmer who was looking for his "spotted
cow critter."
"I believe it would," agreed Joe. "We'll have a try at it, anyhow."
"Kill two birds with one stone," said Mr. Ringold, "we'll get supplies,
and pictures too."
They started down stream, proceeding with care, for there was an unusual
quantity of debris in the river--logs, part of lumber rafts, dismantled
houses, barns and sheds. But the _Clytie_ was navigated safely through
it all.
Our friends had gone about a mile, when, as they went around a wooded
point of land, they saw a curious sight. It was a large steamer,
stranded inland, about a quarter of a mile from the water. It was listed
to one side, and about it were many men, engaged in digging a trench, or
canal, so as to float the craft back into the stream.
"Well, what do you know about that?" cried Joe, in surprise.
"Got to film her, all right!" declared Blake.
"How could such a thing happen?" C. C. Piper wanted to know.
"They probably went through a 'cut-off,'" explained Mr. Ringold, "and
must have gone aground. Then, before they could float her, the waters
took a new direction, made a new channel, and left the steamer where she
is. I've read of such things, but never saw one. We'll go over and find
out."
The motor boat was directed to a point nearest the inland steamer, and,
taking the camera, Blake and Joe went ashore, followed by the manager
and actor.
And, while the boys were taking moving pictures of the men at work
digging the trench, to bring the river to the steamer, since the boat
refused to go to the water, Mr. Ringold questioned the captain.
"That's about how it happened," the latter said, when the manager had
asked about the accident. "I tried a short cut, and we anchored for the
night right about here. I s'posed I'd have water enough to go on in the
morning, and maybe save about ten miles by this 'cut-off.' But, by
George! When we tried to start in the morning we found the waters going
down, and, before we knew it, we were high and dry. I don't know as
we'll ever get afloat now."
Indeed it did look like a hopeless task, but the men were working hard
to take advantage of the high water. Once the flood subsided the steamer
might never be floated, until another period of unusually heavy rain set
in.
"Well, I guess we've got enough of this," remarked Blake, as he took the
final scenes at the steamer. "Now for some views in the village below."
Once more they were under way, and a little later they came in sight of
the town, which was the principal shipping port for cotton in that
vicinity.
"Say, there's a big crowd working there!" exclaimed Joe, as they headed
for the levee, only a small part of which was out of water.
"Yes, there's a big crowd there, but look at the few who are working at
the cotton," spoke Blake. "There's a big pile of it, and it'll take
those few men a good while to move it. The water's rising fast, too."
The levee at this town was a sloping one, faced with cobble stones, and
when the river was low, horses and wagons were driven down it to the
landing stages of the steamers. There were no permanent docks, except on
the very top of the levee, and it was there the cotton was stored.
The absence of permanent docks, or wharves, close to the water was due
to the sudden rise and fall of the stream at this point. Sometimes the
steamers could come up to the permanent wharves, at the top of the
levee. At others they were some distance off, and goods had to be moved
down the slope in wagons, to the temporary landing stages, thrown out by
the boats.
The danger to the town, should the levee give way, was so evident, that
every available man had been called on to strengthen the sloping bank,
which kept back the waters. The owners of the cotton, it seems, had
appealed in vain for help in moving their cargo back out of danger, and
so they were obliged to do the work themselves. And it was no easy
matter to handle the big, clumsy bales.
The motor boat was tied where it would not be in the way, and, from the
bow, Joe and Blake took a series of moving pictures while Mr. Ringold
and C. C. went ashore to get some supplies, and make inquiries regarding
the missing theatrical company.
In regard to the latter, however, they received no satisfaction. Nothing
had been seen or heard of them. The telegraph line, however, was in good
working order, and Mr. Ringold sent a message to his New York office,
asking if any news had been received from the missing ones.
"We'll wait for a reply," he said. "It ought not to take many hours, and
we can easily spare the time."
"Joe," remarked Blake, when they had filmed several views of the scenes
at the levee, "suppose we take the boat down stream a short distance. I
want to get nearer to the piles of cotton, so they will show up well on
the screen."
"All right. I can work the boat, and you can manage the camera."
Mr. Ringold and the actor were up in the town, but the manager had told
the boys they might move the boat about as they pleased in getting
pictures.
Accordingly Joe cast off the line, started the motor and headed the
craft nearer to the cotton wharf.
"Hold her there now!" cried Blake, as he took a position at the bow with
the camera.
He was grinding away at the handle, paying no attention to the boat, or
river, when suddenly a swirl of the current carried a big log directly
against the bow of the craft. She was being headed slowly up stream, Joe
working the motor only fast enough to maintain a slight headway.
There came a jar that shook the _Clytie_ from stem to stern.
"Look out!" yelled Joe to Blake, but the warning came too late. The
young moving picture operator shot overboard, into the muddy water, the
camera clattering to the deck behind him.