Covering a Great Flood by Airplane
When Jimmy explained to Mr. Dexter that he needed help the next day and
had asked Carl to assist him, Mr. Dexter reluctantly consented for Carl
to go with him. Carl was really needed at home in this emergency, for
there would be much to do. But Mr. Dexter was so grateful to Jimmy for
saving his son’s life, and for perhaps saving all their lives, that he
did not feel as though he could refuse the request. So it was settled
that Carl and Jimmy should take off at dawn the next morning.
Neighbors lent the lad some shoes and clothes. And though these did not
look very well, they answered the purpose all right. The question of
shelter for the night was solved with equal ease. Neighbors took the
homeless family into their own homes. Jimmy wanted to be near his plane.
The lad who had guided Jimmy from his plane to the burning home said
that his grandfather lived in the white house by the mowing where the
plane was standing, and would be glad to take the two fliers in for the
night. So Jimmy and Carl found themselves housed for the night in a very
comfortable home, close by the airplane. They were assured that no one
would molest the ship, for the big farm dog would drive off all
intruders.
Relieved in his mind, Jimmy prepared to get some sleep, in preparation
for the hard day he foresaw for the morrow. But before he went to bed,
he got out his maps and studied the topography of the region over which
he had to fly the next day. Northend, the town that had been wiped out
by the flood, was some miles north of Berlin. It was at the lower end of
a little valley, which was almost entirely surrounded by mountains. The
Androscoggin River flowed through the little city.
“It’s plain enough what has happened,” said Jimmy to Carl. “There must
have been a dam up the river and it gave way. There was no place for the
wall of water to go but straight through the heart of Northend. These
two mountains at the southern end of the town are like the shoulders of
a bottle. There’s only a narrow neck between them, for the water to pass
through. If this jammed up with debris, the whole town would be under
water.”
They studied the map in silence for a few moments. “Gee!” said Carl.
“There’s plenty of mountains up there. How are you going to get there?”
“We’ll fly directly up the Connecticut River, between Vermont and New
Hampshire, until we pass South Columbia. Then we’ll fly east past the
mountains until we strike the Androscoggin. We’ll follow that stream
south to Northend. What we’ll do for a landing-place I don’t know. The
map doesn’t look very promising. But I suspect we can pick out some
place that will answer. Anyway, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to
it. But you can remember to watch for possible landing-places after we
leave the Connecticut to-morrow. That’s a rough country up there in
northern New Hampshire.”
Their thoughtful hosts looked after the lads’ every need, even to
lending them an alarm clock. Soon the boys were sound asleep in a bed as
soft as down. It had been an exciting day for both of them, and each was
ready for slumber.
When the alarm rang, Jimmy sat up in bed indignantly. “Confound that
thing!” he said. “Something’s wrong with it. We haven’t been abed ten
minutes.”
But his watch showed him that the only thing wrong was his own sense of
time. It was almost dawn. The boys arose instantly and dressed quietly,
so as not to disturb their hosts. They tiptoed down-stairs, their shoes
in their hands. But when they reached the kitchen there was a surprise
in store for them. Their hostess was not only up and dressed, but a
substantial breakfast awaited them. Jimmy hardly knew what to say or how
to thank her. She told him the best thanks would be for the two boys to
eat a good breakfast. In that way they thanked her heartily enough.
Then, bidding their kind hosts goodbye, the two lads hastened to the
plane, started the engine, and soon hopped off.
Straight to Springfield they flew, and there Jimmy landed and had his
supply of gasoline and oil replenished. Then they took off for the
north, sailing straight up the valley of the Connecticut. On another
occasion Jimmy would have been glad to fly leisurely along this
beautiful river and enjoy the fine scenery. But to-day he had no time
for anything but his job. Well he knew that hard on his heels would come
rushing a whole company of newspaper men, if indeed some of them had not
even preceded him in the dark. His job was to get to Northend as quickly
as he could, and collect the material he needed. An hour’s start, he
knew well, would make all the difference in the world to him. So he
opened his throttle and pushed his ship along at a fast pace. He had
considerably more than 200 miles to go, for he was playing safe by
doubling around the mountains instead of flying directly over them. But
in considerably less than two hours he had covered the route selected
and was flying south along the Androscoggin, close to Northend. So far
he had not seen a plane anywhere, and he believed he was the first news
flier to reach the scene.
As he came south along the little river, the land began to rise in
swelling heights to right and left, and the level bottom-land became
narrower and narrower. Presently the _Morning Press_ fliers found
themselves almost surrounded by mountains. It was like flying through a
break in the side of a bowl into the bowl itself. Ahead of them, behind
them, and to right and left of them, mountains rose, steep, rugged, and
menacing. And in the very centre of this bowl-like valley lay Northend.
At the present moment the valley was in very truth a bowl, for it was
fairly covered with water. From mountain to mountain the water reached,
and what had been the city of Northend looked like a collection of tiny
islets in the centre of the vast lake. Individual houses and blocks of
buildings lifted their dark roofs above the turbid waters.
“Makes you think of huckleberries floating in a bowl of milk,” Carl
shouted to Jimmy.
And that was what the scene did resemble. The huckleberries, of course,
were houses. In the centre of the town the buildings rose in solid
blocks, like squares of brown bread that had gotten in with the
huckleberries. But in the residential districts the houses stood apart,
well separated, and on the very outskirts of the town they were farther
and farther apart. Isolated homes rose from the flood out in what must
have been the suburban or rural regions. Nowhere within the limits of
the city was there a foot of dry ground visible.
“It’s terrible,” shouted Jimmy. Carl nodded his head.
Jimmy made a complete circle around the little valley, at a good
elevation. From that height he and Carl could see everything. Their
vision ranged from mountain to mountain, unobstructed. Nowhere was there
another plane. Nowhere was there evidence of activity, save in one or
two places where small boats were being navigated from house to house.
Jimmy was thrilled at the thought that he was the first outside
correspondent actually to reach the scene. He resolved that he would
also be the first to take to the outer world an eye-witness story of the
disaster. He knew he must work fast to do it. Other newspaper men would
soon be on his heels. They would be coming in droves.
“Get my camera,” he shouted to Carl, “and take a snap or two of the
scene. Get a picture that shows the whole valley under water, with
Northend in the centre of it.”
Carl could handle a camera, and leaning through an open window, he got
several good pictures. The rising sun was shining down into the valley
by this time, illuminating it well.
Now Jimmy brought his ship down in an easy glide until he was not more
than 200 feet above the flood. He flew back and forth over the town.
Carl snapped pictures as they flew and Jimmy watched every feature of
the scene before him. Now he could see many people looking out of the
upper floors of their homes. He could trace the course of the river by
the line of debris and wreckage. For the flood had gone tearing through
the city, wrecking, smashing, demolishing everything in its pathway.
Before it had been swept a vast mass of material, consisting of
outbuildings, uprooted trees, broken telephone poles, railroad ties, old
boats, wooden bridges, sawlogs, pulp timber, porches, fences,
boardwalks, demolished homes, and a thousand other objects that the
rushing waters had wrenched loose or broken down or torn up. And all
this mass of debris, jamming at the bottle neck, had backed the water up
and submerged the town. Jimmy had read his map aright.
As he flew, Jimmy made mental note of striking things he saw. Here was a
house tilting at an unbelievable angle, its underpinning evidently
washed away. Here were motor cars standing on their roofs, only their
four wheels showing above the flood. Here were the remains of an iron
bridge that must have weighed scores of tons. Yet the iron work was
rolled into a great mass, like a ball of rope, and the whole thing
rested on a smashed front porch of a home. The entire front of the house
was caved in by the force of the blow struck by the iron. Here were
railroad cars turned upside down.
Through the centre of the town was a wide gap between rows of buildings.
At first Jimmy did not catch the significance of this. He thought it was
the river bed. Then something reminded him of the stream as he had seen
it a few miles above Northend. There it was only a little river, a few
rods wide. This breach in the centre of the town was of vast width.
Suddenly Jimmy understood. Whole blocks of houses had been washed away.
They must be jammed up with the other debris at the bottle neck below.
He shuddered at the thought. The loss of life must have been appalling.
Along either side of this wide pathway of death, the flood waters had
left their marks. Debris of every conceivable sort had been washed up on
either side of the furrow the flood had plowed through the town, and
there a million odd things had lodged. Old boxes, chicken-coops, boards,
timbers, door-steps, wooden gates, tin cans, and a multitude of other
things had been forced in between houses or up on porches, or through
first floor windows, until the scene was terrible beyond description. It
was plain enough where the wall of water from the broken dam had gone
surging through the town. Like a giant among pygmies, it had mowed down
everything in its path.
Back and forth Jimmy flew over the distressed city. On the flat tops of
business buildings he saw many people. The upper floors of buildings
seemed to teem with people. On the hills opposite the town he now saw
figures moving. He judged they were people who had reached the heights
before the flood overwhelmed the city, or else they were folks from the
neighborhood who had come to the assistance of the marooned townspeople.
Long ago, all those who could be rescued had been rescued, or had gone
to their deaths. How many of them there were and who they were Jimmy
could not even guess. But he knew the total must be terrible. He could
not help to save anybody, but he could get into touch with the survivors
and get the story of the disaster. He began to look about for some means
of accomplishing this end.
Near the centre of the town was a building that stood up one or two
stories higher than any other structure in the city. It was a great
squarish building, that looked as firm as Gibraltar. Jimmy had noticed
it as soon as he reached the town. He couldn’t help noticing it. And he
also saw that there were people on the flat roof. Now he flew toward
this building, dropping as low as he dared to come. Suddenly his eye
shone with pleasure. On the front of the structure he caught sight of a
large sign, with the gilded name “Northend _Daily News_.” He glanced at
the group of people on the roof. He was so close to them that he could
almost tell the color of their eyes. To his astonishment he saw that a
desk had been carried to the roof, together with many chairs, and that a
man was seated at the desk, busily typewriting.
The sight stirred Jimmy’s heart. “It’s the editor of the Northend _News_
writing the story of the flood. I’ll bet a dollar it is,” thought Jimmy.
“If only I can get that story, the _Morning Press_ will have the biggest
scoop in years.”
He pulled out a pad and scribbled on it as he flew: “Have you the story
of the flood? Can I get it from you? I am from the New York _Press_.”
Then he turned to Carl. “In my tool kit you’ll find a large spool of
safety wire,” he said. “Get that out, put a weight on it, and tie this
note to it.”
Carl fished out the wire, weighted one end of it with a monkey-wrench,
and tied the note to it. Then Jimmy headed directly into the stiff
breeze which was coming up, and when they neared the building again
throttled his engine down until the ship seemed hardly to have any
forward motion. Carl, meantime, had paid out the wire. Several men on
the roof grabbed for the message, but all missed it. Jimmy made a circle
and once more flew over the roof. This time some one caught the note.
Jimmy circled the town and flew back over the _News_ building. Now he
saw white marks on the roof. Some one had been making great letters with
a piece of chalk. They were a message for him. This is what they said.
“Have entire story. Press room flooded. Have made mats. Can you take to
Berlin and arrange to have edition printed and sent here? A truck can
reach west side of town by the hill road.”
When Jimmy read that he couldn’t suppress a whoop. “Carl,” he cried.
“Just think! He’s got the story set up and the mats made for casting the
stereotype plates. If we can get those mats, we can get proofs of the
whole story. It’ll be the beat of the year.”
He scribbled another note. “Will land and try to reach you. Have
everything ready. Will fly to Berlin with the mats and make arrangements
for edition for you.” The next time he flew over the _News_ building,
this message was skilfully dropped by Carl and caught by the group on
the roof.
“They got it,” shouted Carl.
Jimmy smiled and nodded. Then he pulled back on his stick, lifted his
plane to a higher elevation, and went soaring straight toward the
nearest hillside, looking for a possible landing-place.
On a hillside farm he found a place that looked favorable. Twice he flew
over the place studying it. The ground seemed rough. He was fearful of
it. But he saw no better place and decided to chance it. He came down in
a long glide, barely missing some trees. Then he straightened out for a
landing. His plane was just skimming the ground, and Jimmy was waiting
for it to lose flying speed when he noticed a low stone wall at the
other end of the field. Jimmy knew he was overshooting too much to dare
attempt to kill his surplus speed by fish-tailing. He burst the gun wide
open and eased back on the stick. In a second the ship was once more
over the tree tops, and Jimmy circled back again into the wind for
another try at the field. He did a nose high slip and then proceeded in
disgust to pancake her in. It was a dangerous move, even for the most
skilled pilot, for always there is danger of falling off on one wing,
due to a lack of flying speed. The ship was settling vertically. Just
before she hit, Jimmy burst the gun half open to give her a little more
forward speed, so she would not settle so hard on her undercarriage.
Then she struck, but not hard enough to break anything. Rapidly she came
to rest. With a sigh of relief he throttled down his engine and climbed
from the plane. He let his motor idle for a few minutes, then cut the
switch.
“We’ll go over to those folks yonder and talk to them,” he said,
starting toward a group of people who were doing something at a
distance.
They hurried to the workers. A number of people who lived on the hills
were busy making rafts at the water’s edge to rescue the marooned; for
there were many folks in the flooded area whose position was still
precarious. Jimmy talked to the workers. They told him the story of the
breaking of the dam. This was a huge reservoir in the hills, only a
short distance above the city. Continuous rains to the north had swollen
every brook and rivulet until the impounded water had reached a
threatening height. There was anxiety about the dam, but no actual fear
of its breaking. Then suddenly, without warning, the dam had slid from
its foundations, releasing the entire body of water at once. That was
what made the catastrophe so awful.
A wall of water thirty feet high had swept down the valley. Naturally it
followed the trough of the Androscoggin. That stream, already bank full,
could not hold another drop. The result was appalling. Straight through
the town the huge wall of water had gone, thundering and destroying,
smashing and devastating, sweeping away houses as though they had been
chips. Whole blocks of buildings, on either bank of the stream, had been
picked up and swept down-stream. Jimmy’s guess was correct.
Scores had been killed or were missing. Had the disaster occurred in the
daytime, it might have been possible to save many of them. But coming as
it did, just at nightfall, the flood had done its worst. To venture out
into the roaring waters in the dark was sheer suicide. There had been
some rescues. They told Jimmy about those they knew of. There had been
many deeds of daring. Jimmy learned the stories. Now a great effort was
being made to save those who were still in danger. For the waters were
yet deep and the current swift. Indeed, in the centre of the town the
water was still eight feet deep and sweeping along swiftly, cutting away
ground, undermining houses, uprooting poles, and spreading destruction.
The work of rescue had been made difficult through the loss of boats.
Most of the boats in the town had been swept away in the first fierce
rush of water.
There was one little boat at hand. It was a rickety, sorry-looking
craft, and it evidently leaked badly. But still it was a boat. Jimmy
looked at it. He decided that it would hold together for a few hours
longer.
“Who owns this boat?” he inquired.
“I do,” said a farmer. “But it ain’t much of a boat. I caught it in the
flood last night.”
“I’ll give you five dollars for it for one hour,” said Jimmy.
“You can have it,” said the farmer, “but I warn you it ain’t safe to get
in it. We tried it and had to come back. The thing almost sunk with us.”
“We’ll try it,” said Jimmy. “Got something we can bail with?”
The farmer got them an old pail. There were oars in the boat. Jimmy got
two strong poles from a pile of wood that lay near.
“Come on, Carl,” he said, stepping toward the craft. “Let’s empty her.”
They drew the boat ashore and turned it on its side. When the water had
run out, they pushed the craft into the flood, stepped carefully into
it, and shoved off. The farmer’s description had not been exaggerated.
Water began to seep into the boat rapidly.
“Take the oars and row as hard as you can, Carl,” said Jimmy. “I’ll bail
and tell you how to pull.”
Carl began to row rapidly, and Jimmy started to throw out the water. By
bailing vigorously he could just about keep up with it. They made good
progress until they came to the built up part of the town. Here the
water rushing between the houses caused eddies and delaying currents.
But they kept on steadily, Jimmy telling Carl which way to pull, while
he himself tossed out bucket after bucket of water. Without the bucket
they would have sunk in a short time.
They drove straight out toward the street on which the _News_ building
stood. There they turned and floated straight down the street with the
current. The waters were still tearing along between the houses at a
terrifying rate. It was appalling to think what it must have been like
when the flood was at its crest. There was little to do now except bail
and steer. There was still plenty of drifting debris in the water, and
this made it dangerous. Always there was the chance that some half
sunken log, swirling up beneath them, would overturn their boat and
catapult them into the flood.
They drew near the _News_ building. “We’ve got to be sure we make it,”
said Jimmy. “If we are carried past, it will be a deuce of a job getting
back. Get your rope in hand. Put your oars in the boat. I’ll steer her
with a pole. Grab a window-frame. I’ll knock out the glass if
necessary.”
They drew swiftly near the _News_ building. It had suffered, like every
other building in town. The water was up to the second story. Apparently
it was going to be difficult to make a landing.
“Get ready now,” cautioned Jimmy. “If we miss her, I’ll try to shoot the
boat around the corner of the building. There’ll be an eddy there. Grab
anything you can catch hold of, and hold fast to your rope.”
Jimmy forced the boat toward a second-story window. The window was
closed. It looked as though they would have a hard time to make an
entrance. Jimmy raised his pole to smash the glass. He was just about to
strike, when the sash was flung up and a man’s head thrust through the
window.
“Give me your rope, quick,” said the man.
Carl thrust out his hand with the rope. The man took the rope and
carefully snubbed the boat. “Look out,” he cried. “Watch that you don’t
get thrown out.”
The boat swung round in the current and came to rest alongside the
building. Jimmy and Carl climbed carefully through the window, helped by
the man within.
“We are the fliers who dropped you the message,” said Jimmy. “We’ve come
for the mats.”
“Good,” said the man. “Come up on the roof and talk to the boss.”
They ran up the steps to the roof. There sat the man Jimmy had seen at
the desk. He was still typewriting. Jimmy made himself known.
“I’m from the New York _Morning Press_,” he said. “Tell me about the
flood, and about your own situation and what you want me to do.”
“No use to tell you anything,” said the editor. “Every word I know about
the flood is already in type. You can have complete proofs of it if you
will take my mats to the office of the Berlin newspaper and get them to
print the edition. I want 5,000 copies. They can send them back here by
truck or any way they wish, but I must have them at the first possible
moment. We’ll establish headquarters over on the shore, near the place
from which you started. We’ve been watching every move you made. That’s
near the highway that skirts the west side of the valley. Tell them to
send their papers there just as quick as they can get them printed. By
that time the water will have gone down some and maybe altogether. They
are making arrangements to dynamite the jam at the gorge below town.
That will let the water drain out.”
Meantime, a printer had been wrapping the mats up carefully in oiled
paper. Another man had attached a long rope to Jimmy’s boat and had
worked the boat around into the eddy at the down-stream side of the
building. Still another printer came to the roof with duplicate sets of
proofs for Jimmy.
The latter assured the _News_ editor that he would not fail to carry out
his commission. “I ask just one thing,” he said. “Give me an assurance
that I have a start over the next reporter.”
“I’ll do that,” said the editor. “I can’t hold out any news, if any
reporter questions me, but I’ll give out no more proofs. That’s only
fair. It’s in return for your help. Now you’ll have to be hurrying, for
there comes your first competitor.”
Jimmy whirled and looked upward. Sure enough, there was another plane
coming down the valley.
Jimmy delayed only long enough to talk to some of the men on the roof.
He soon found they knew little except the general story of the flood.
They were all employees of the _News_. All had been at work in the
building when the flood overwhelmed the town on the previous evening.
They had remained there because they believed they were safe in the big
steel and stone structure. But reporters had managed to get abroad and
before the telephone lines were all down they had telephoned in dozens
of stories about the flood. Later some of them had made their way back
to the _News_ building in a boat, with detailed stories of rescues,
deaths and drownings, heroic acts, and the names of the flood victims
whose bodies had been recovered and identified. And now Jimmy had proofs
of all their stories, together with all the tales he and Carl had picked
up, and their photographs and mental pictures of what was left of
Northend.
No wonder Jimmy wanted to be off with this treasure trove, when he saw a
competitor winging toward the town. Bidding farewell to the _News_
editor, Jimmy and Carl carefully entered their boat, bailed it, and
shoved off. The trip back was even harder than the journey out to the
_News_ building, for now Jimmy had a great roll of mats to keep dry. He
was forced to bail with one hand. It was difficult work to keep up with
the incoming water, but he toiled like a Trojan and almost kept up. By
the time they reached the shore there must have been two inches of water
in the boat, but that meant nothing to either lad.
Jimmy paid the farmer for the use of his boat. He delayed a little to
ask further questions about the flood, and picked up additional
incidents; for several people had joined the rescue group while he and
Carl were gone. Just as Jimmy was starting for his ship, he saw that the
other airplane was landing close to where his own ship stood. He delayed
to see who the newcomer was. He was sorry enough he had waited, when the
latter stepped from his plane. It was Rand, a man who formerly worked
for the _Morning Press_ and who had been discharged by Mr. Johnson
because he utterly failed to solve the problem of the air mail bandits,
whereas Jimmy had uncovered the whole story.
Even before that event occurred, Rand had disliked Jimmy. But since Rand
had been discharged by the _Morning Press_ he had hated Jimmy with
malignant intensity. He had done everything he could, at every turn, to
trick and discredit him. And Jimmy knew well that the fellow would
hardly stop at anything to accomplish his purpose. Now Jimmy walked
briskly by him, merely nodding. But Rand answered the nod with a cutting
oath.
In a few minutes Jimmy and Carl hopped off for Berlin. Almost straight
south they flew, with the Milan Hills on their right and the
Chickwolrepy Mountain on their left. It was no distance at all to
Berlin. At least, it took almost no time at all to reach that city. But
Jimmy had to circle several times before he was willing to land. Even
then he was fearful of the result. For the only place that looked
possible was the flat land along the river, and this had been under
water. Even yet there were little pools here and there in the
depressions. Jimmy was afraid his plane might bog down and nose over. If
it did, that was the end of his flight—the flight that promised so much
for him.
For a moment he was tempted to go on, and mail the mats back from the
next town. But he had promised to put them in the hands of the Berlin
editor. Jimmy always tried to make his word as good as his bond. So now,
after studying the ground carefully, he picked out the most promising
looking spot and came down in a long glide. Just as his ship was about
to hit the ground, he gave her the gun for a second, to increase her
momentum, set her down on three points, and held his breath. The field
was not as wet as it looked, and the mud was only surface mud. His ship
rolled safely to a stop.
Jimmy was out of her in a flash. Throwing off his parachute, and leaving
Carl to guard the plane, he hurried off with his mats. In no time he
found the editor of the Berlin paper, delivered the mats and the
message, and was back at his ship. But on the way he had stopped at a
garage to engage some gasoline. Soon a tank wagon rolled up, and Jimmy’s
tanks were quickly filled. Then, waving good-bye to the circle of
admiring small boys, Jimmy hopped off.
A great, bald-faced, precipitous hill rose to the west of the town.
Jimmy circled over the city, to gain altitude. Below him he noticed the
great pulp mill and the enormous pile of pulp wood, that rose like a
little mountain close beside the river. The whole atmosphere was
redolent of the sulphur used in making paper.
But Jimmy had little interest now in sightseeing. The instant he had
gained sufficient altitude, he darted away to the west, shot between the
hills, and sped straight as an arrow to Lancaster, the nearest town on
the Connecticut.
Then he banked to the left and with throttle opened wide went roaring
down the valley of that river, over the same route by which he had come.
He dropped Carl at Springfield, after getting his promise that when
things were straightened out at home Carl would come to New York to
visit him.
Again he took off, and this time he did not come to earth again until he
landed at his home field. A taxi once more took him to the _Press_
office, where he delivered his news proofs and films to the city editor,
then sat down and for a long time worked industriously at his
typewriter, putting down on paper the description of what he had seen
and learned at Northend.
His trip back to Long Island was a pleasant one. Again he had been equal
to the occasion. Once more he had made good. But there was one memory of
his recent trip that left a bad taste in his mouth. That was the thought
of Rand. On several occasions now he had gotten the better of the
fellow. Each time Jimmy had triumphed over him, Rand had made his hatred
more evident, had tried meaner tricks to thwart Jimmy. But never before
had Rand cursed him at sight or seemed so venomously hostile.
“I’ll have to watch him carefully,” thought Jimmy. “He is vicious enough
to do most anything.” And Jimmy was right, as coming events were to
prove.