# The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 20

CHAPTER XX
ON THE RAFT
"We're sinking!"
"Get out the life preservers!"
"Save the films and cameras!"
"And grab something to eat! Don't forget that!"
Thus cried those aboard the Clytie, for it was evident that the stanch craft had made her last voyage. She was careened at a dangerous angle, and her motor had stopped.
"The raft ripped a big hole in the bow!" shouted Mr. Ringold, who, with Blake, had been thrown against the side of the pilot house, and was somewhat stunned by the shock.
"Are we sinking?" asked Joe.
"No, but it is only a question of a few minutes. We must save ourselves."
"And our outfit—if we can," said Joe. "What shall we do?"
A hasty examination showed that the jagged ​front logs of the raft had been driven completely; into the motor boat, staving in her planking, through which the water was rushing. And, so violent had been the blow of the collision that the Clytie was actually impaled on the floating tree trunks, that were bound together with ropes.
"Take to the raft!" cried Mr. Ringold. "It's our only chance!"
"That's right!" shouted C C "Come on, boys! Load all we can on the raft!"
The water was now up over the cabin floor. It was evident that she was going down fast. Only the fact that the raft stuck part way through her held her up. Once filled with water, as she soon must be, she would pull herself loose by her own weight, and go to the bottom of the Mississippi.
"Food first, water—and something for a light!" cried Mr. Ringold, issuing his orders calmly. "Then, if you can, boys, save the cameras and films."
"Oh, we'll save them!" exclaimed Blake.
"I should say so!" murmured Joe.
A keg of water, some packages of food, and two lanterns were hastily lifted over the side of the motor boat, and placed on the raft. Then some blankets, bedding and other things were tossed over in a pile.
​"Now the cameras and films!" yelled Blake. "Get on the raft, Joe, and I'll pass them to you."
Stopping only to gather up a few personal belongings, Joe leaped to the surface of the raft. It had been a large one, though only part of it remained now, and it was well up out of the water.
"Here you go!" cried Blake, as he handed down the reels of exposed film. And how glad Blake was that they had taken the precaution to wrap them in oil-cloth! For it was raining, and he had to lay the reels down on the raft, where the water would drizzle on them.
"Any more?" asked Joe, as he came back from the center of the log raft, where he had piled the things Blake handed to him out of the motor boat.
"The cameras now. They're loaded, so be careful of them. We may get a chance to take more views," spoke Blake, hopefully.
"It doesn't seem so," commented Joe, as he glanced at the sinking Clytie.
Mr. Ringold and C. C. were busy saving what they could to give aid and comfort while aboard the raft. It could not be much, for there was little time to spare.
"She's going!" warned the actor, as he passed out another roll of blankets and bedding.
"I think she is," agreed the manager, as the ​impaled motor boat gave a lurch, and pulled partly away from the raft. She was filling rapidly with water, and the great weight of that, as well as the weight of the motor, was dragging down the hapless Clytie.
"Come on! Jump!" urged the actor to Mr. Ringold and Blake, who were aboard the sinking boat. "No time to lose."
Blake paused only long enough to grab up a light rifle, and some cartridges, vhich were in the cabin, and then he leaped to the raft.
He was followed by Mr. Ringold, and none too soon, for, a moment later, with a rending of planks, the motor boat pulled away from the jagged ends of the raft on which she was impaled.
A second's hesitation, and she sank with a gurgling, bubbling sound beneath the muddy, swirling waters of the Mississippi.
"Good-bye, Clytie!" said Blake, softly, and it was as though he was saying farewell to some dear friend.
"Well, I guess we've seen the last of her," murmured Mr. Ringold.
They stood silent for a minute, huddled together, a wet, miserable group on the big raft that was racing down stream. Then, as he gazed at his companions, and then at the pile of their possessions, C. C. Piper remarked:
​"What happened, anyhow? What does it all mean? Is it a dream or reality?"
"It's real, all right," spoke Joe, mournfully enough. "We were rammed by this raft—that's what happened. And it's lucky for us that these logs stood by long enough for us to get aboard, or we'd be swimming out there in the big muddy," and he nodded toward the river, from which they were kept by none too stout a craft.
"It's my fault," said Mr. Ringold. "I should have seen this raft racing along."
"Well, let's see what sort of a boat the raft's going to make for us," interrupted Joe. "We've got to stay aboard to-night, at all events."
"Yes, and maybe longer," added Blake. "Well, there's a cabin to take shelter in, anyhow. Let's take a look at that."
He nodded toward the stern of the raft, and, looming up in the darkness, could be seen a sort of shack, or shanty. It was where the raftmen did their cooking, eating and sleeping, while navigating the big collection of logs down the river.
"Let's see what sort of place it is," Blake went on. "Maybe there are bunks in it, and a stove where we can cook what stuff we've got left," and he looked at the little pile of food they had been able to save from the sinking boat.