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U. S. Service Series.
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. WEATHER MEN
by
FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER
With Seventy-two Illustrations from Photographs
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
Boston
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
[Illustration: THE FUNNEL OF DEATH.
Photograph of a tornado in Kansas, taken less than a minute before it
struck the point where the camera had stood.
(This is one of the best tornado photographs in the world and has not
been retouched.)
_Courtesy of Geo. S. Bliss, U.S. Weather Bureau, Philadelphia, Pa._]
Published, September, 1917
Copyright, 1917
By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
All rights reserved
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. WEATHER MEN
Norwood Press
Berwick & Smith Co
Norwood, Mass.
U. S. A.
PREFACE
The savage fury of the tempest and the burning splendor of the sun in
all ages have stirred the human race to fear and wonder. All the great
stories and legends of the world began as weather stories. The
lightnings were the thunderbolts of Jove, the thunder was the rolling of
celestial chariot-wheels, and the rains of spring were a goddess weeping
for her daughter, Nature, held a captive in the icy prison of Winter.
We know a great deal more about the forces of the Weather than the
ancients did, yet we know but little still. The hurricane does not come
unheralded to our shores, the freezing grip of a cold wave is forecast
in time to enable us to fight it, the lightning is tamed by the metal
finger we thrust upward to the sky. But the tornado sweeps its funnel of
death over our cities in spite of all we do, the cloudburst falls where
it will, and rivers rush to flood with the melting of the snows upon the
distant mountains.
There is no battle greater than the battle with the Weather, which is
both our enemy and our ally. Death and disaster are the price we pay
for ignorance. Great victories have been won by knowledge. Galveston's
sea-wall dared and defeated the hurricane, the levees of the Mississippi
have held captive many a flood, and our myriad spears of defence have
snatched at the power of the lightning flash and hurled it harmlessly to
the ground.
We are not slaves to the demons of the Weather, now--not as we once
were. The United States Weather Bureau, day by day, draws closer and
closer the chains which bind the untrammeled violence of sun and storm.
High, high in the atmosphere, is a world all unexplored, where no man
can dwell; where, as yet, no human-made instrument has reached. This
unknown world calls for explorers, it calls for adventure, it calls for
daring and patient work. It is for Man to tame the forces of the sky,
and tame them he must and will. To show how much the Weather Bureau is
accomplishing, to depict the marvels of its work, to portray the
ruthless ferocity of the forces as yet uncontrolled and to reveal the
gripping fascination of this work, in which every American boy may join,
is the aim and purpose of
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
ADRIFT ON THE FLOODED RIVER 1
CHAPTER II
THE HOME OF THE RAIN 34
CHAPTER III
PUTTING THE SUN TO WORK 72
CHAPTER IV
THE MASSACRE OF AN ARMY 105
CHAPTER V
THE RUNAWAY KITE 143
CHAPTER VI
DEFEATING THE FROST 180
CHAPTER VII
CLEARING AN INNOCENT MAN 210
CHAPTER VIII
IN THE WHIRL OF A TORNADO 255
CHAPTER IX
THE TRAIL OF THE HURRICANE 280
CHAPTER X
STRUCK BY LIGHTNING 312
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Funnel of Death _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Futen, God of the Winds 14
There, Before the Flood, Stood Anton's House 30
The Edge of a Tornado's Whirl 38
In the Path of the Lightning 46
In the Path of the Tornado 46
Facing a Climb on Snow-Shoes 56
Twenty-Five-Foot Drift a Mile Long 56
Forest Ranger in Idaho 56
Observer Among the Quaking Aspens 56
No Peak Too Lofty for a Weather Station 68
Wall and Upright Sun-Dials 86
The First Line of Defence Against the Tempest 98
Solar Halo Seen in the United States 110
Solar Halo Seen in Russia 110
The Dust that Makes Red Sunsets 122
An Army Destroyed by Weather 138
Types of Upper Clouds 152
Types of Lower Clouds 152
Types of Rain Clouds 152
Kite-Flying--The New Way 162
Kite-Flying--The Old Way 162
The Explorer of the Upper Air 172
Snow-Flakes from the Upper Regions of the Air 186
Snow-Flakes from the Middle Regions of the Air 186
Snow-Flakes from the Lower Regions of the Air 186
Ringing the Frost Alarm 192
Fighting Frost in an Orchard--Night 206
Fighting Frost in an Orchard--Dawn 206
Bucking a Snow-Drift 212
Clear the Way! 212
Measuring the Blizzard's Rage 224
Signals on Delaware Breakwater 236
Signal Tower for Storm Warnings 236
Thermometers and Rain-Gauge 246
Pencil Drawings of Tornado in Dakota 256
True Tornado Forming in Advance of a Dust Whirl 268
Tornado Dropping Towards Ground 268
Tornado Wrecking a Farm 276
Tornado Whirling Sidewise 276
Galveston Causeway Before and After the Hurricane 286
Shot from the Gun of a Hurricane 296
Scale of Winds, Illustrated by Clipper Ships 304
Branch Lightning and Multiple Flash 314
Eiffel Tower Struck by Lightning 320
Lightning Flash Striking Building 320
Mules Carried in the Air Three Miles from Their Stable 328
Grand Piano Picked Up by a Tornado and Dropped in a 328
Cow-Pasture
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. WEATHER MEN
CHAPTER I
ADRIFT ON THE FLOODED RIVER
"What is it, Rex, old boy? What are you after? Somebody else in trouble,
eh?"
Ross looked down through the pouring rain at his Airedale, who was
pulling at his trouser leg with sharp, determined jerks. The dog looked
far more like a seal than a terrier, his hair dripping water at every
point, while a cascade streamed from his tail. The boy was every whit as
wet. Here and there, through the slanting lines of rain, could be seen
the smoky gleams of camp-fires, around which, shivering, gathered the
hundreds of people who had been rendered homeless by the flooded
Mississippi.
The lad turned to his father, who was bandaging a child's wrist, which
had been broken during the work of rescue.
"It looks as if I ought to go, Father," he suggested, "that's if you
don't mind. By the way Rex is going on, there's something up, for sure."
"Go ahead, then, son," his father agreed, "the dog's got sense enough
for a dozen. Watch out for yourself, though, and don't get foolhardy,"
he added warningly, as the lad disappeared in the darkness; "you've got
to be right careful when the Mississippi's in flood."
"I'll watch out," Ross answered reassuringly, as he started off with the
dog, and, a moment later, the glow of the camp-fire was blotted out in
the falling rain.
"This is your hike, Rex," announced the lad; "you lead and I'll follow."
The Airedale cocked up one ear on hearing his young master's voice,
then, putting his head knowingly on one side, as if he understood every
word that had been said, he trotted to the front and splashed through
the pools of mud and water, his stump of a tail wagging with evident
satisfaction.
Ross was used to all kinds of weather, but a downpour such as this he
had never seen before. The rain fell steadily and relentlessly, with
never a pause between. The night was too dark to see clearly, as the
sheets of water were swept before the wind, but their force was
terrific. Several times the boy had to turn his back to the driving
storm and gasp, in order to get his breath.
"Where are you going, old boy?" again queried Ross.
The terrier paused, shook himself so that the drops flew in all
directions, looked up in his master's face, gave a short sharp bark and
trotted on.
Ross leaned down, patted the dog, and followed. By some instinct of his
own, the terrier was keeping to a submerged road, though how he managed
to remain on it was beyond the lad's comprehension, for the night was as
dark as a wolf's throat and the path was under water half the time.
Suddenly the dog stopped and looked back as though for guidance. Before
them was a swirl of water. In the darkness it was impossible to say how
deep the wash-out might be, or how wide. Ross hesitated. His father had
warned him against foolhardiness, and here he was facing the crossing of
a swift current of unknown depth on a pitch-black night. Should he
venture?
Rex barked, a short excited "yap" of urgency.
"I'll go as far as I can wade, anyhow," said Ross in response; "maybe it
isn't so deep after all. I'm not particularly anxious to have to swim."
The terrier watched his master, and as soon as the boy started to cross
the wash-out in the road-bed, the dog plunged in. The current swept him
down rapidly, but Rex was a powerful swimmer and the lad had little fear
for him. It took all his own strength to keep him from being swept off
his feet, but the break in the road was not more than six yards across,
and the boy was soon safe on the other side. He whistled shrilly and a
moment or two later, Rex came bounding up and jumped on his master with
clumsy delight. Then, with another cock of his head, as though to make
sure of himself, he took up his position in front of the lad and trotted
ahead.
How it rained! The water had gone down Ross's neck and inside his shoes,
so that they sloshed and gurgled with each step. Little rills of water
trickled coldly down his back and legs. The wind was dropping, so that
the rain drove less in slanting sheets, but it seemed to pelt down all
the more heavily for that. Even in the darkness, Ross could see the
plops, where the drops fell, standing up from the surface of the flooded
water like so many spiny warts. It was lonely, even with Rex for
company, so dark and so wet was the night, and Ross was glad when the
glow of a fire in the distance told him that he was approaching an
encampment, probably, he thought, that of another group of settlers who
had been driven from their flooded houses and were shivering, homeless,
in the night.
When he arrived near enough to take in a full view of the scene,
however, he found it very different from what he expected. True, there
was a large camp-fire burning, such as the one he had left, and around
it were gathered a number of women and children, cold, hungry and wet. A
rough, lean-to tent, made of a sheet of tarpaulin, had been stretched in
order to try to keep off the worst of the downpour, but no shelter
availed.
A few steps farther, on the river bank, was a scene of excitement and
commotion. A large gasoline torch flared into the night, defying the
efforts of the storm to extinguish it, and by the light of this torch,
scores of men were working busily, almost crazily, repairing a cave-in
that threatened every moment to make a new break in the levee.
"Who's that? Another man?" rang out a clear, strong voice, as Ross came
near. "Good! We need men badly, right now."
"It's me, Mr. Levin," answered the boy promptly, as he recognized the
voice, and hurried into the circle of light, "it's me, Ross Planford."
"Howdy, Ross," came the greeting in reply, "all your folks safe?"
"Yes, sir," the boy answered. "It was a narrow shave, though. Rex got us
out just in time."
"Good dog, that," was the terse comment. "I always did like Airedales.
Well, Ross, it's time you got busy. Bring me a pile of empty bags from
Dave's sugar-mill, there."
"Yes, sir," answered the lad, and darted off towards the factory.
Rex followed at his heels, and when, staggering back with his load, Ross
dropped one of the empty bags, the terrier picked it up and came
trotting after, carrying it in his teeth.
"I dropped one, Mr. Levin," said the boy, "I'll go right back for it."
"You don't need to," replied the Weather Forecaster, "your pup retrieved
it for you. See?" and he held up the missing bag.
The engineer in charge of this section of the Mississippi, whose duty it
was to guard the artificial banks or "levees" of the river, was working
on the main break in the levee, with a huge gang of men. In this crisis,
one of the planters, who formerly had been the local Weather Bureau
official, had offered to take charge of the new threatened source of
danger.
At his request, Ross busied himself for some time in bringing empty
bags, which were then filled up with sand and dumped into the cave-in.
Being in bags, the washing action of the water could not carry away the
sand, and the gradually crumbling bank again was made firm. After a
while, however, Ross again felt the dog tugging at his trouser leg and
he realized that the mission on which he had started had been forgotten
in the excitement of mending the crack in the levee.
"That's right, I was forgetting," said Ross aloud, and he appealed to
his friend the Forecaster.
"Mr. Levin," he said, "can you spare me for a bit? I left Father's camp
because we thought there was something wrong. Rex kept on tugging at my
leg, as though he wanted to lead me somewhere. He's worrying again, now.
Do you mind if I go ahead and see?"
"Not a bit," was the hearty answer, "a dog doesn't generally go on like
that without some reason of his own. I'll send one of the roustabouts
with you, if you like?"
"No, thanks, sir," the lad answered, "if I really need help I'll come
back and ask for it. Right now, I just want to find out what it is
that's bothering Rex."
"Off with you, then," said the other, kindly, "but go easy. Oh, and
Ross!" he added, "if you're going down stream, just keep your eye on the
levee, won't you? If you see any signs of trouble, get back on the
double-quick. Don't try any of that story-book business about sitting
down with your back to a hole in the bank. That sort of thing may be all
very well in Holland but it wouldn't work with the Mississippi."
Ross grinned, remembering the story.
"All right, Mr. Levin," he answered, "if I see anything that looks like
trouble, I'll come right back and report."
For a short distance down the river, Rex led the boy along the levee,
then he branched away from the river bank towards a large stretch of
low-lying land. This was familiar territory to Ross, for one of his best
chums, a little crippled lad, lived in a house in the hollow.
"I hope Anton got out all right!" suddenly exclaimed Ross, half aloud,
as the thought swept over him of the plight in which his chum might
have been.
This fear became more poignant when, as Rex reached the path that led up
to Anton's house, he turned up it, half trotting and half splashing his
way through. Ross followed him closely, breaking into a run himself, as
the dog galloped ahead.
There was a slight rise of the ground, near the wood below which lay the
house, and from this shallow ridge the rain ran off in muddy gullies
that were miniature torrents. This ridge reached, Ross looked down over
the hollow toward the house. The entire plantation was a sheet of water,
and, in the middle, still stood the house, the water half-way up its
first story.
Rex set his forelegs firmly on the ground and barked fiercely, with
loud, explosive barks that rang through the storm like the successive
discharges from a small cannon.
Then, out of the rain, faintly through the distance, a shout was heard.
It sounded like a boy's voice.
"It's Anton!" cried Ross. "He's been left behind! And that house is apt
to go to pieces any minute!"
The first thought that sped across his mind, as he peered through the
darkness to the dim outlines of the white house, was to hurry back to
the Forecaster for help. Even as this thought came to him, however, Ross
realized that such action might be of little use. Already the waters of
the flood, swirling around the house, undermined it every moment, and it
would take a long time to portage a boat all the way from the levee to
the hollow, now in the wild sweep of the torrent.
Then Ross remembered that, a couple of years before, when a wet summer
had caused a considerable quantity of water to gather in the hollow,
forming a small lake, Anton and he, together with the rest of the boys,
had built a rough boat. They had played the whole story of "Treasure
Island" in this craft, Anton, with his crutch, taking the part of Long
John Silver. The boat was a rough affair, as he remembered it, something
like an ancient coracle, but it had been water-tight, at least. Perhaps
it would be sea-worthy, still. At least, it was worth a trial.
Turning his back on the building that was islanded by the flood, Ross
raced as fast as he could to the little block-house on the ridge that
the boys had built two years before, near which he hoped to find the
boat. Twice he stumbled over a root in the darkness and fell headlong
into the mud and water. Still, as he could not be any wetter than he was
already and as he did not hurt himself, a few falls were no great
matter.
On the ridge, fast to the block-house, to which level the water had not
yet reached, Ross found the boat. Moreover, to his great delight, he saw
that Anton had been patching it up, so that it was now more serviceable
than ever.
It was a different matter, punting this home-made boat around the waters
of a pond on a calm summer's day, and striking out with it in a blinding
storm across the flooding lowlands of the Mississippi River. Again his
father's warning not to be foolhardy, came to Ross's remembrance, and,
together with it, the Weather Bureau man's caution. None the less, the
boy knew well that his father would never bid him hold back from a piece
of work that was dangerous or difficult when life was at stake.
The boat was half full of water from the pouring rain. Ross bailed it
out with a cocoanut-shell to which a handle had been affixed, evidently
a home-made bailer of Anton's manufacture, and, as soon as it was clear
of water, dragged it to the border of the current and launched it. The
craft floated crankily, it was true, but it floated, and, so far as the
boy could tell, it seemed fairly water-tight.
Jumping out again, Ross swung himself into the water and shoved the boat
along beside him. He saw the value of wading as far as possible, for he
knew that, as long as his feet were on the bottom, he could govern his
direction. To what extent he might be able to stem the current by the
use of oars in a boat of that character, he did not know.
Rex, however, was convinced that the boat had been secured expressly for
him, and, as soon as Ross came near enough to the shore, the dog bounded
through the shallow water in long leaps, swimming the last few feet, and
put his paws on the gunwale. Ross picked up the terrier and heaved him
into the boat. Rex gave a snort of satisfaction, shook himself so that
he sent a trundling spray of water clear in his master's face and then
took his post in the bow of the boat and set himself to barking with all
his might and main. It seemed almost as though he really knew that he
was at the head of a rescue expedition and wanted to convey the
information. When at last Rex ceased barking, which was not for some
minutes, Ross gave a shout.
Instantly, at one of the upper windows, something white appeared. In the
darkness the boy could not tell what it might be, but he guessed, and
rightly, that it was Anton's shirt, and he heard again, though faintly,
the answering call across the river.
"Keep up your nerve, Anton," he yelled, through the storm, "I'll be over
there in a minute."
Faintly, again, came the answering cry,
"Hello, Ross! Is that you? I wondered who it was that was coming."
The slow progress made by shoving the boat along, however, was not at
all to Rex's liking. He turned and looked at his master doubtfully, then
barked again. To his disgust, in turn, the boy found that the slope of
the hollow curved away from the house a great deal. He was tempted, time
after time, to jump into the boat and pull straight across, but he knew
that if the force of the current drifted him below the house, he could
never hope to go upstream against it. His only chance was to make sure
that he could reach the middle of the torrent above the house and drift
right down upon it. A few yards' extra leeway would enable him to steer
his cranky craft to the desired spot. So, though it seemed to him as if
he were going away from Anton, and though, indeed, he was now so far
away that the crippled boy's shouts no longer could be heard, Ross stuck
to his intentions, and, still wading, pushed the little craft up-stream.
Rex protested vigorously. He ran back from the bow and looked into
Ross's face with a reproachful and almost angry bark, as much as to say:
"You silly! Can't you tell what I brought you here for?"
The boy knew better than the dog.
"Lie down!" he ordered sharply.
Rex, understanding in a doggish way that he was in the wrong somewhere,
went back to his post in the bow, where he stood dejectedly, his tail no
longer at the jaunty angle than it had been before.
At last Ross felt that he had reached a point high enough up the flooded
bank to justify him in the attempt to get across. He jumped into the
home-made skiff, and, setting his strength to the clumsy oars, began to
pull with all his might.
He had not over-estimated the force of the current. As the light craft
got into the swirl, the black water caught it like a feather. Ross
pulled with all his might, but the banks slipped by as though he were in
tow of one of the river steamboats. Never had the boy tugged at a pair
of oars as he did now, and never had he so wished for a good boat and
for real oars. He was only two-thirds of the distance across to the
house when it came into sight, only a little distance below him.
He would not reach it!
With the energy of despair, Ross tugged on his oars, every muscle of his
body tense with the strain.
Rex, divining the struggle, stood silent, not looking forward over the
bow as he had been doing, but watching his master as he toiled with his
oars.
Then, out from the darkness, shot the long black menace of a floating
tree trunk. Straight for the boat it sped.
From the window, now close at hand, came a cry:
"Look out, Ross! Look out!"
Ross saw the danger. He knew, if he backed water, or halted long enough
to let the tree go by, he would infallibly be swept past the house and
all hope of rescuing Anton would be gone. He saw, too, that if the tree
struck the frail boat, it would sink it as a battleship's ram sinks a
fishing-boat in a fog at sea. He might win through, but if it struck--
The oars creaked with the sudden strain thrown on them.
On came the tree, but, just as it was about to strike the boat, it
checked and turned half over, as the projecting stump of a broken bough
caught on the ground below. For an instant, only, the tree halted and
began to swing.
The halt gave a moment's respite, one more chance for an extra pull with
the oars. The big log, thus poised, made a backwater eddy on the surface
of the river, checking the force of the current. Ross reached back for
another stroke, with every ounce of his muscle behind it.
The tree turned over sullenly and charged down the river anew. Yet that
brief pause, that second of delay, that back-water ripple as the log
hung in suspension, had given Ross just the advantage that was needed.
The branches of the upper part of the tree swept round, one of them
catching the stern of the boat and almost pulling it under. Peril had
been near, but victory was nearer. The bow of the boat touched the wall
of the house.
The current, swirling around the rocking walls, carried the boat to the
lee of the house, and, as it spun round, Ross leaped on to the porch,
chest-deep in water, and took a quick turn with the boat's painter
around the corner post of the porch.
The torrent took his feet from under him, and swept him down-stream,
floating, but Ross held a firm grip on the rope and dragged himself
back. There, clasping the post tightly, he got back his breath. After a
moment's groping he found the railing of the porch. By standing on this
and holding fast to the corner post, he was, for the moment, out of
danger.
He had reached the house, but how was Anton to be rescued?
The crippled boy was on the second story and the upper window could not
be reached from the boat, even if the boat could have been held in place
directly under it. Fortunately, Ross knew the arrangements of his chum's
house as well as he did those of his own. Stepping gingerly along the
porch railing, he came close to the window of the sitting room. The
glass was still in the window frame, but as the front door was swinging
wide open, though partly choked with débris, Ross knew that the sitting
room must be full of water. He kicked the glass out and then, with a
heavier kick, broke away the middle part of the window-sash. The water
did not come quite to the top of the window frame, sure evidence that
there was room for air between the water and the ceiling.
Taking a long breath, but with his heart knocking against his ribs, Ross
dived through the broken window. It is one thing to be able to swim and
dive, it is another to plunge through a splintered window-frame into a
dark house in the middle of the night, with a flood roaring on all
sides.
Was the door into the hall open? On that, success depended.
The boy turned sharply to the left as he came up to the surface and took
breath. His hand struck the top of the door jamb. The door was open, but
the casing was only three inches above the water. Ross dived again
through the door, and, under water, turned to the right. One swimming
stroke brought him to the staircase and he rushed up the few steps at
the top to the room above.
There, by the light of a single candle, he saw Anton, his eager eyes
shining out of his pale face. The crippled boy hobbled across the room
on his crutch and grasped his chum tightly by the shoulder. He was
trembling like an aspen-leaf in the wind.
"Scared, Anton?" said Ross. "I'm not surprised. You've a good right to
be."
"I wasn't so scared," the younger lad replied, with the characteristic
desire of a boy not to be thought cowardly, "I just got to wondering,
that was all."
"Wondering if any one was going to come for you?"
"Yes."
"How did you get left behind, anyhow?" queried Ross.
"Oh, it was my own fault, all right," the crippled lad replied. "It was
all because of the dog. You know, Ross, Lassie had pups, last Monday."
"No, I didn't know about it," responded the older boy. "Why didn't you
tell a fellow?"
"I haven't seen you since," Anton explained. "Well, when the levee broke
and the water commenced to come into the house, Dad and Uncle Jack went
and got the two boats we always keep on the river. Dad picked me up and
carried me down on to the porch. I heard him call to Uncle Jack:
"'You go ahead and get Clara; I've got Anton safe with me.'"
"Then you were with him, weren't you?" queried Ross.
"Sure I was. Just as I was getting into the boat, though, I thought of
Lassie and her puppies and I went back to get them. I called to Dad and
said:
"'I'm just going to fetch Lassie, Dad, and I'll go in Uncle Jack's
boat.'
"So, Dad, he called to Uncle, saying that I was to go with him. His boat
was pretty well crowded up, too. Back I went to get Lassie. As soon as
I'd picked up the pups, Lassie was willing enough to come along. The
water was running over the floor and made it slippery. My crutch
slithered on the wet wood and I tumbled down. It was pretty dark, and I
had a job finding the four puppies again. When I did gather 'em up and
started for the porch again, Uncle Jack was gone."
"Without you?"
"He thought I was with Dad, and I suppose Dad was sure I was with Uncle
Jack."
"They ought to have found out and come back after you as soon as they
got together."
"I thought of that," the crippled lad answered, "and that's what I
expected would happen. I suppose, though, they didn't land at the same
place, and so each bunch thinks I'm with the other and isn't doing any
worrying."
"It's a mighty awkward mix-up," declared Ross. "There's no saying what
might have happened to you if Rex hadn't been on the job."
"Was it Rex who brought you here?"
"It sure was," Ross replied, and he described how the terrier had pulled
him by the leg and insisted on his coming over to the house in the
hollow.
"Where's Rex now," queried Anton, "down in our old boat?"
"Yes, he's down there, keeping watch, good old scout," answered Ross.
"He ought to be satisfied now, he certainly made fuss enough to bring me
here. But, look here, Anton, how are we going to get you out? You don't
swim."
"No," answered his chum mournfully, "I can't swim."
"If there was room enough down that stair," said Ross, thoughtfully, "I
could take you on my back, but we'd never get through that door, and
the window would be even worse."
"I'd been thinking of that," Anton answered. "I wondered how Dad would
get me when he found out that I wasn't with Uncle Jack and came for me.
So I made a long rope out of strips of my sheets."
"What's the good of that?"
"Well," said the younger boy, "I was wondering if I couldn't get out of
the window. My arms are awful strong, you know, Ross."
"Yes," the other agreed, "you've plenty of muscle there."
"I thought if I could drop that line out of the window, Dad could grab
it and hold the boat there. Then I could chuck down Lassie and the pups
in a basket--I've got the basket--and slide down the rope of sheets into
the boat."
Ross thought for a minute.
"I don't see why we couldn't do that now," he said. "Suppose we tied a
piece of wood to the end of this rope of sheets, so that it would float,
the current would curl it around the corner of the house so that I could
get hold of it from the boat. If your end of the line was made fast up
here, I could hand over hand the boat right under your window, the way
you say. Why, I could get you out without any trouble at all! Let's see
how it goes."
Suiting the action to the word, Ross tied one end of the line of sheets
around the hinge of the door, passed it through the window, and, to the
other end, tied a spare crutch. Then he leaned out of the window and
watched it. The current snatched the crutch down and, as Ross expected,
swung it around the corner of the house.
"Fine," said the lad. "We can work that all right. I'll have you out of
here in two shakes, Anton. Where are the pups?"
Anton pointed to the bed, on which a basket was lying.
"Aren't they dandies?" he said.
Ross took the candle over and picked up one of the pups. Lassie growled
in a low voice.
"All right, Lassie," said Ross, "you ought to know me."
He bent down and patted her.
The dog smelt his hand and whacked her tail on the floor in token of
recognition, but growled again, nevertheless.
"I won't hurt your pup," declared Ross, putting the blind little
creature back in the basket.
"Nicely marked, Anton," he said, "they look great. But we've got to get
busy."
He went to the head of the staircase and stared down.
"It doesn't look a bit nice," he declared, "I sort of hate to go through
there again."
"Why do you?" queried Anton. "You could go down the line and reach the
boat that way."
"That's an idea," declared Ross thoughtfully, then he shook his head.
"No," he said, "my weight would swing the crutch out clear away from the
house. I'd better go down the way I came up. I can always get back,
anyway."
He ran down the staircase until the water reached to his chest and then
struck out. The water had risen slightly, but he got through the door
without any trouble. Passing through the window he was not so lucky, for
a projecting splinter of glass scraped him as he dived through, making a
long but shallow cut in the upper part of his arm.
Rex welcomed him back with short joyful barks.
"I'm not a bit sure," said Ross as he patted the dog, "whether it was
Anton or the pups that you wanted me to rescue, eh? Which was it?"
For answer Rex only wagged his tail and jumped up on his young master.
"Down, Rex, down," ordered Ross, "this boat's too cranky for that sort
of thing. Now, where's that crutch?"
In the darkness and the pouring rain it was hard to distinguish
anything, but the white gleam of the sheets showed where the crutch was
floating.
"Out of reach," muttered Ross in disgust. "Just my luck! How am I going
to get it?"
It was a problem. The crutch was floating on the current above twelve
feet beyond the reach of the boat's painter, let out to its utmost
length. By stretching out with one of the oars, Ross was about four feet
short. Just four feet, but so far as success was concerned, it might as
well have been four miles.
If he jumped from the boat and swam for it, there was always a chance
that the current would pluck him down before he could grasp the line,
and then he would not only be in danger himself, but he would have lost
all chance of saving his crippled friend. As long as he stayed either
with the boat or with the house, there was a chance. It would be
foolhardy to lose connection with both.
Then a brilliant idea struck him. Suppose he tied the painter of the
boat under his arms, loosed the boat from the post and jumped into the
water. He ought to reach the floating line before the current had taken
up the slack of the boat's painter. If he left loose a long enough end,
with a loop knot, he could fasten the rope from the boat to the line of
sheets, and the boat would be made fast. The loop knot would unfasten
itself and he could easily clamber into the boat, from the stern, since
it was fastened to the line coming out from Anton's window. Then he
could haul up the boat, hand over hand, as agreed upon, take Anton and
the puppies aboard and strike out straight for the shore.
No sooner was the idea conceived than Ross proceeded to put it into
action. Slipping the line around his arms, once, he tied a loop knot in
front of his chest, where it would be easy to reach, leaving about three
feet of rope hanging, untied the painter and shoved off the boat. The
instant that the boat felt the current it yawed around, but, at the same
moment, Ross jumped out and forward with all his might. The action sent
the boat down-stream all the quicker, but in a second's time, Ross had
grasped the floating crutch and had taken a turn with the loose end of
the rope around it.
He was not an instant too soon, for a sharp tug at his chest, followed
by a sudden release of the weight, told him that the loop knot had
untied itself, as he hoped it would. Holding on to the sheet line with
one hand, he rapidly passed the rope once under and through. Ross had
not learned his knots from the Mississippi sailors for nothing, and as
the boat came to the end of its tether and jerked on the line, the boy
had the satisfaction of seeing the knot tighten. With the strain off, it
was easy to take another half-hitch around the line, and the knot was
secure beyond peradventure. He climbed aboard, raised a cheery cry to
Anton, and commenced to pull the boat hand over hand along the line of
sheets. It was only a moment before the little craft was bobbing on the
flood, immediately beneath the window.
"Let's have the puppies first," cried Ross.
Anton's head disappeared from the window, and reappeared in a moment.
"Catch!" he cried and held out the basket.
Ross balanced himself as best he could and caught the falling basket. It
was not more than a five feet drop and the basket landed squarely in
his arms. He placed it in the boat. Loud barking overhead announced that
Lassie was displeased and worried over the sudden departure of her
offspring.
"How am I going to get Lassie out?" queried Anton. "I'd never thought of
that. She'll strangle if I let her down by the collar."
"That's easy," Ross called back. "Tie a bit of string to her collar,
chuck me the end of the string, and then throw her into the water. It
won't hurt her, and I can easily haul her aboard."
"All right, then," the other answered, "get the boat out of the way."
"Chuck me down the end of the string first," warned Ross, and, as he
spoke, a ball of stout twine fell in the boat. "Out with her now," he
continued, slackening away on the line, so that the boat was no longer
directly out of the window.
There was a moment's pause and then the big dog appeared in the opening,
struggling in Anton's strong, if clumsy, grasp. She clawed at the
window-sill, not understanding what was happening, but Anton gave her a
push, and half turning as she fell, Lassie struck the water all of a
heap. The instant she was afloat, however, her natural swimming
instincts asserted themselves and she started for the shore.
"Here, Lassie!" called Ross, with a whistle, and pulled gently on the
string that was fastened to her collar. The dog felt the pull and turned
around, swimming directly for the boat. Ross stooped down and lifted her
in. The mother immediately smelt the puppies and scrambled along the
bottom of the boat to the basket. She smelt her children, nosed them
over, one by one, then, satisfied that everything was all right, muzzled
against Rex, and lay down contentedly.
This feat accomplished, Ross pulled the boat under the window again.
"Now, Anton," he called, "it's your turn."
"All right," the younger lad replied, "I'm coming."
Ross heard him drag a chair to the window, to make it easier for him to
clamber out.
Just at that instant, there came a cracking from the front of the house,
the corner-post of the porch, to which the boat had been fastened less
than five minutes before, fell with a crash and the front of the house
crumbled. There was a moment's pause, and then the whole structure
keeled over, away from the boat, and with a rending and cracking of
timbers, broke from its foundation. Over and over it heeled, and it
looked as though it would go to pieces. From the window overhead came a
scream of terror.
Realizing that Anton could never save himself, if the house were
collapsing, Ross leaped for the rope of linen that was hanging out of
the window and went up it like a monkey.
The chair on which Anton had climbed, to get out of the window, had slid
to the far end of the room and fallen on the sloping floor, the lower
edge of which was now in the water, and the crippled lad was pinned down
and unable to get out. The candle had been thrown down on the table and
fire was beginning to lick some paper that had not slipped to the floor.
Ross dashed in, grabbed Anton by the arm, picked him up with the
"firemen's carry" and staggered up the sloping floor to the window.
Had the boat suffered in the careening of the house?
The line, made of linen sheets, still was taut, and Ross, peering out of
the window, saw to his great delight that the boat was still there with
all its passengers safe, Rex, Lassie, and the puppies.
A lurch almost threw Ross upon his face and the whole house swayed as
though with a violent earthquake. The next instant, a sense of motion
beneath them told the boys that the house was afloat.
"The house has gone, the house has gone! What are we going to do?" cried
the crippled boy.
"That's all right, Anton," the older lad said consolingly, "things
aren't so bad. See, it's beginning to get daylight."
"But," said the younger boy, "the house is floating down to Pirate's
Cave, that gully where the big rocks are. If we run up against those,
the house'll be smashed to bits, sure."
Ross thought for a moment and saw that his chum was right.
"Guess we'll have to take to the boat after all, Anton," he said, "it's
a good thing the house got on a level keel again, when she came afloat."
Action was needed and that immediately. Ross climbed half-way through
the window.
"I've got to get that boat up here in a hurry," he said, "the current's
swift enough, when you're in that small boat, but this house doesn't
float down so fast. It's a mile, anyway, to the gully."
So saying, he swung himself out of the window, went down the linen rope
and dropped into the water. Hand over hand, again, up the rope came the
boat until once more it was under the window. Meanwhile, by heroic
exertions, Anton had swung himself up on the window-sill. As the boat
came beneath him, the crippled lad swung out on the rope and proceeded
to climb down into the boat.
He was not a moment too soon. While Ross had been bringing the boat to
place, the speed of the current had increased and the house, like a
clumsy Noah's Ark, began to sweep swiftly towards the gully of which
Anton had spoken.
"Quick, Anton," said Ross, as the smaller lad hesitated, "we've got to
be quick."
He cut the boat loose.
In spite of his blunt words, it was with the greatest gentleness that
Ross handed the lad to a seat in the rough craft where they had played
pirates during the preceding summer, and settled down to his oars.
Lassie, finding her master safe in the boat, came and laid her head on
his knee, while the shore went slipping by. Here and there a barn still
stood, the tops of the trees showed above the flood, but all the ground
was hidden and the torrent was running like a mill-race. Little by
little, Ross edged the boat towards the shore, not trying to stem the
current but rowing diagonally across it. Only a few hundred yards
separated the house from the gorge which the boys knew as Pirates Cave.
By this time the boat had reached the higher portion of the hollow,
where the current slackened. A few strong strokes of the oars and the
boat grounded, safely.
At that instant the slight lightening of the rain-filled skies showed
that, behind the clouds, the sun had risen. The boys turned to look at
the house which had been Anton's refuge, and which so nearly had been
his tomb. As they looked, the structure struck against the uppermost of
the rocks with a crash and collapsed as though made of matchwood, while,
a second after, into the medley of boards and timbers some uprooted
trees came crashing.
"You wouldn't have stood much chance there, Anton," said Ross.
The crippled lad put his hand on the older boy's shoulder, with as close
an approach to a gesture of affection as boy nature would permit.
"I guess I'd have been a goner," he answered, "but for you."