# The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX
ANXIOUS HOURS
"Where are you going to head for first?" asked Blake, as he and Joe began "stowing away" their belongings, while Mr. Ringold stood at the wheel.
"For that island, where the hotel clerk said our friends went to make pictures," replied the manager. "I know about where it is, as nearly as he could tell me, and if they're not on the one they said they were going to, they may be on another, for there are several together."
"Do you imagine they would be there all this while?" asked Joe, as he got out one of the moving picture cameras, for they were at a place now where some thrilling views could be made.
"It is just possible they are," answered Mr. Ringold. "They may have landed, taken some pictures, and then something may have happened."
"Such as—what?" asked Mr. Piper. Of ​late he had not made as many gloomy predictions as usual. Perhaps he appreciated what Mr. Ringold said, about there being enough trouble without adding to it by needlessly looking on the dark side.
"Well, their boat may have gone adrift in the rising waters, and they may have been forced to remain on the island," went on the theatrical man. "And there has been, so much confusion and suffering out here, that their appeals for help, in case they could make any, may have gone unheeded.
"So I think we'll head for that island, and see if we can get any clews. It is a sort of forlorn hope, but that is the only starting point I can think of. How is she running, Blake?" he asked, for Blake was attending to the motor, while Joe focused the camera.
"Fine," answered the young engineer. "She's a powerful engine, all right."
"She'll need to be," was the grim comment of the manager. "There is some power to this current," and he looked over the side of the bow, at the onrushing, muddy Mississippi. Though they were in the upper reaches of the big stream, it had so increased in size that it was almost a constant menace to the motor boat.
Not only was the current powerful, but there ​were waves as large as those that might have been encountered on some bay of the ocean; great, yellow muddy waves, that curled after the Clytie as though to overwhelm her. But the craft was in skillful hands.
"Look at that!" cried Blake, as they swept around a bend, and saw, in the flood, several small houses being carried down together. "Get that Joe!"
"I'm getting it!" shouted the young operator, as he turned the lens of the camera in that direction, and began grinding away at the handle.
"I'll put you over closer, so you can get a better view," called Mr. Ringold, as he headed the bow of the motor boat in the direction of the floating dwellings.
As he did so there came a shout from shore, and several men were see to put off in some small boats. They pointed at the houses, and seemed much excited.
"I wonder what that means?" spoke C. C., as he came from the enclosed cabin, out on the deck where Joe had the camera. "I wonder if they think they can haul those houses to shore?"
"It doesn't seem possible—with only their small boats," remarked Blake. "They may be able to anchor them, though, and save them when the waters go down."
​"You'd need an ocean tug to pull them out of this current," remarked Joe, as he continued to take moving pictures. "But there must be something up, or those men wouldn't be so excited."
"Maybe they want us to try and tow the houses," suggested Blake.
"Well, we're not going to do it," decided the manager. "It's too risky, though I'd try it if it was to save life."
He had hardly spoken, when the group of houses swirled about in the current. At an upper window of one of them appeared a woman, holding in her arms a baby. She stretched the child out toward those approaching her in small boats, as if appealing for help.
"Say, we've got to save her!" cried Blake.
"That's right!" agreed the manager.
He headed the motor boat more directly for the floating dwellings, but he had to use caution, as they were entangled in a mass of logs, jagged timbers, and other debris, that made it difficult to approach.
And then, by some strange freak of fate, the houses swirled about again, and the woman and child could no longer be seen. But the dwellings remained upright, so it was fairly certain that ​the two were safe in the upper room—at least for a time.
Then the current carried the houses on some hidden sandbar, and they rose higher from the water, tilted to one side, and remained there.
"Look out!" cried Mr. Piper, as the manager continued to urge the motor boat onward. "We may go aground ourselves."
"Can't help it—we've got to try to save that woman and baby!" cried Mr. Ringold.
But there was no need for him to risk the Clytie, for the small boats, that had put out from shore came up then, and could more easily approach the stranded dwellings.
"We'll take 'em ashore, friends," said one of the men, in a small boat, to Mr. Ringold. "Just as much obliged to you, though. Better keep out from here, or you may stave a hole in your craft."
"Just what I was thinking," the manager replied. "We'll stand by, though, and give you all the help we can."
Then began the rescue of the woman and child from the house on the sandbar. It was accomplished with some difficulty, and the motor boat was in a position where all the details could be seen well. Joe had a good position for his cam​era, and he ground away at the handle, getting a series of fine views.
The woman, sobbing hysterically, and clasping the child in her arms, was lifted into one of the boats, and wrapped in blankets, for it was beginning to rain again.
"Better let me tow you ashore—or near to it," proposed Mr. Ringold.
"Yes, it would help some—it's hard rowing," answered one of the rescuers. So the motor craft was swung about until the three small boats, which had come out to the houses, could be made fast to her, and then she pulled them across the swollen river to the shore.
The boys did not hear the details of how the woman came to be swept away in her house. It was only one of many cases of people being caught in the suddenly rising waters.
Approaching as near shore as was safe, on account of the floating masses of debris, our friends cast off the towing ropes, and proceeded on their way.
"Well, I got some fine pictures, anyhow," declared Joe, as he put away his camera, for it was now raining so hard that no successful views could be made.
They kept on down the mighty Mississippi, turning now and then to avoid obstructions, and ​at times being obliged to swerve almost directly across, which was not easy on account of the powerful current.
The river was constantly making new channels for itself, and leaving old ones, but the Clytie was a boat of small draught, and could easily navigate in shallow places.
"Suppose we eat something?" proposed Blake, for it was nearly noon. Considerable time had passed at the rescue work.
There was a small gasoline stove in the cabin of the boat, and they had with them plenty of supplies, so it was not long before a meal was in preparation. And, in spite of their anxiety about the missing ones, our friends managed to eat heartily. Even Mr. Piper seemed to lose most of his gloom, as he passed his cup for more coffee.
"We ought to be near that island now," observed Mr. Ringold, as he looked across at the shore nearest to which they then were. "The hotel clerk said it was opposite a certain town, with two white church steeples. There are the two white church steeples he mentioned."
"There isn't much of the town left," said Blake. "It's pretty well under water." And that was a fact. The lower part was submerged, and as they came up to it, men could be seen going about in boats, removing belongings ​from houses, the lower floors of which were already under water.
No lives appeared to be in danger, for the people had doubtless fled to higher ground on seeing the rising waters. On the hills back of the town could be noted a number of tents, where, very likely, the refugees had taken up their abode.
"But I don't see anything of an island," said the manager, as he peered over the turbulent stretch of muddy waters.
"If it was opposite this town, and the lower part of the town is under water, the island is probably covered up by now," observed Blake, grimly.
"I'm afraid so," agreed the manager. "We'll go over there, and make some inquiries."
By going toward shore they were not in such a strong current, and soon the motor boat was cruising along through what had been business streets.
"This is like being in Venice," remarked Joe, as the Clytie puffed slowly along between rows of stores and houses, from which men, in boats, were removing goods and furniture.
"Looking for someone?" called a man, who had, in a big scow, an odd collection of household effects, and stuff from a general store.
"For a company of moving picture players," ​answered Mr. Ringold. "They came down to Pin Island, one day last week, to make some drama scenes, and they haven't come back. Can you tell us where Pin Island is?"
"I can tell you where it was," said the man grimly. "Right out there," and he pointed to a spot where nothing but a swirling rush of muddy waters could be seen. "That's where the island was, and it's probably there yet, but you can't see it," he added.
"Did you hear, or see, anything of the players?" asked Mr. Piper.
"Well, I did hear that some of them were over there, just before the waters got so high," the man answered. "But what became of them I don't know. I'm very sorry, but I can't help you."
"Well, this is some information, anyhow," spoke Mr. Ringold. "We know we are on the right track."
"You'd best look for 'em below here," the man in the scow went on. "They couldn't hardly make their way against the current. You'll probably find 'em below. There's higher ground there, and they'd have a better chance."
"Is there another town near here?" asked Joe.
"Yes, Bellmead, about four miles below. ​They've got a good levee there, and aren't so badly off as we are."
"Then we'll go to Bellmead," decided Mr. Ringold.
The motor boat was turned out from the submerged streets, and into the open river again. It was still raining—quite hard now—and to try for pictures was out of the question, as the sky was dark and lowering.
Keeping out of the middle of the Mississippi, and along one edge, proceeding over what, when the stream went down, would be ruined farming fields, the motor boat went on her way.
"That must be Bellmead," announced Joe, as they made a turn into a "cut-off," or place where the river had made a new channel for itself. He pointed to a place below them, as they could see, more favorably situated than most along the Mississippi. It was protected by a high levee, or bank of earth and stone, and against this the waters were beating.
"We'll land here, and spend the night," decided Mr. Ringold. "No use going on in the darkness, and we may get some news of our friends here."
But they were disappointed in this last. No trace of the missing moving picture players could be had.
​"Yes, there's a hotel where you can stay," said a man, one of several on the levee, "but you may have to get out in a hurry."
"Why?" Blake wanted to know.
"Because this levee is weakening, and if it gives way the flood will be worse than ever."
As he spoke many more men came up on the bank, evidently prepared for work. Back in the town, also, could be seen long lines of negro laborers, with wheelbarrows.
"We're going to pile all the dirt we can on the levee," said the man, who appeared to be in charge. "It's going to be an all-night job."
"Then let us help!" begged Mr. Ringold. "We've got to tie up here over night, and our safety, as well as yours, will depend on it. Let us help."
"Sure!" cried Joe and Blake, and Mr. Piper nodded his assent also.
"Well, we need all the help we can get," spoke the man on the bank. "Of course the colored men will do the rough work, bringing up the dirt in barrows, and bags, but they need to be directed. You can help at that."
And then ensued anxious hours. The work of strengthening the levee, to keep the river away from the town, began at once, and was kept up all night, by the light of flaring torches.