The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV
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!"