CHAPTER XIX
A COLLISION
"Man overboard!" yelled Joe, more from a sudden instinct than becausethere was anyone beside himself on the boat to be informed of the fact.Then, with a leap, Joe was outside the pilot house, and standing in thebow of the still-moving craft.
Joe had caught up, in his rush, a cork life ring, attached to a rope,one being kept on the forward deck in readiness for any emergency in theflood. The young operator shoved the fallen camera to one side, andpeered eagerly down for a sight of his chum.
"Here you go, Blake!" Joe cried, a hasty glance toward shore showing himtwo men coming in a rowboat, in response to his cries. "Here you go!Grab this!"
For he had a glimpse of Blake's head emerging from the water.
Blake was a good swimmer, but he was handicapped by his clothes andshoes, and the fact that the current was rather swift.
The young operator shook his head, to rid his eyes of the blindingwater, and then reached out for the ring which Joe tossed to him. Hecaught it in one hand, and then was quickly pulled toward the boat.
"All--all right--Joe--good--work!" Blake managed to gasp.
A moment later he was safe on deck, and Joe had to run back in a hurryto the steering wheel, for the _Clytie_ was headed directly for thesmall boat. The men in it were crying out in alarm, and endeavoring toget out of the way. But the unguided motor craft seemed bent on runningthem down.
"All right! Don't worry!" shouted Joe, as he twirled over the steeringwheel, and changed the course of the boat. "I guess we'd better go backand tie up," he added. "Did you get enough pictures, Blake?"
"Well, we'll call it a day's work," panted the young operator, as hemanaged to get a full breath after his sudden bath. "I was almostfinished when that bump came and knocked me overboard. What was it?"
"A big log. I didn't see it in time."
"Neither did I, or I'd have taken a brace," said Blake, grimly. "Well,"he went on, as he picked up the camera, and found that it was notdamaged, "I guess I'll change my clothes. These don't look just fit forgoing to a party," and he laughed. The camera had closed automaticallywhen he ceased grinding at the crank, so no pictures were spoiled.
"Can we do anything?" asked one of the men in the boat. They wereworking on the levee, and had dropped everything, and pushed off intheir craft, when Joe's cry of alarm reached them.
"Thank you--no. It's all over," said Blake, as Joe guided the motor boatback to her moorings.
Nothing worse than a wetting was the result of Blake's tumble overboard,and soon, in dry clothing, he was ready for whatever came next. As theyhad enough pictures of the work on the levee, and at the cotton wharf,the boys decided to await the return of Mr. Ringold and the actor, whohad now been gone some time.
"Suppose we go up to town ourselves," suggested Blake, after a bit. "Itwill give us a chance to stretch our legs, and we can help carry backthe rest of the supplies," for the latter had not all been put on boardyet.
"I'm with you," agreed Joe; and, seeing that their craft was securelymoored, they went ashore.
The town was a fairly large one, and contained several stores. Butbusiness was practically at a standstill now, for everyone who could wasworking at the levee. There were anxious looks on the faces of all--men,women and children. But women and children were about the only ones inthe streets, the men all being at the river front.
"Look!" exclaimed Joe, pointing to a moving picture theater. It wasclosed, probably from lack of patronage during the flood season, but infront were some advertising lithographs.
"Some of our films!" cried Blake, as he saw some gaudily-coloredrepresentations of those pictures he and Joe had taken in earthquakeland.
"So they are!" echoed Joe. "Who'd ever thought of seeing them here?"
"I wonder how they took with the audiences?" went on Blake, for healways interested in the financial end of their business, and he and hischum really tried hard to get the very best sort of moving pictures.
"I'd sort of like to know that, myself," murmured Joe.
A small boy was standing in front of the lithographs of the coloredpictures, looking at them interestedly.
"Would you like to go in? What time does the show start?" asked Blake,handing the boy a dime, which he took eagerly, and wonderingly.
"Would I like to go in, mister? Well, I guess I would. But they ain'tgivin' no shows while the river's risin'. Nobody comes and the fellerwhat runs the place says it don't pay him to open. But I saw thempictures," and he nodded at the ones showing a volcano in eruption, andthe ground quaking--views that Blake and Joe had taken at a greatpersonal risk.
"How'd you like 'em?" asked Joe, winking at Blake over the lad's head.
"Say, they was the bulliest pictures ever I see, and I go to all theshows when I can!" he cried with enthusiasm. "They was certainly somepictures, believe me! I would like to have been there myself, only nottoo close," he added, with caution. "The fellers who took them moviessure must have had nerve. I'd like to meet 'em."
"We took those pictures," said Blake, suddenly.
The lad looked at him for a moment. Then a curious look came over hisface.
"Say!" he remarked in withering tones, "I'm much obliged to you for thedime--I sure am, 'cause I don't git many. But there ain't no call foryou to try to string me that way--jest 'cause you slipped me a dime."
"But we did take those pictures," insisted Joe.
The boy edged away, as though he were afraid they might take strenuousmeasures to compel him to believe them. Then, as a parting shot, hecalled out:
"Much obliged for the dime, but I ain't as green as I look, mister. Youtake them pictures? Bah! Think I'll believe that?" And he set off on therun.
"I guess we might have better kept still," spoke Blake, with a grin athis chum.
"I guess so, too. I s'pose it was asking rather too much to get him tobelieve a couple of strange fellows took those views. And do you know,Blake," went on Joe, "sometimes when I get to thinking about what we'vegone through since we used to work on the farm, I can hardly believe itmyself."
"That's right. The stunts we did in New York were strenuous enough for astarter, but in the jungle, and in earthquake land--good night!--as thepoet says!" exclaimed Blake.
"And this is going to be worse, if I'm any judge," went on Joe, as henodded in the direction of the flooded river.
"Guess you're right," agreed his chum.
They kept on through the town, making a few purchases in stores wherewomen were the only clerks, the men being down at the levee.
"There they are!" exclaimed Joe, as he and Blake turned into the mainstreet, from a side one, and caught sight of Mr. Ringold and C. C.
"They look as though something had happened," observed Blake, as henoticed their friends hurrying toward them.
"Maybe they heard about you falling overboard, but didn't hear of yourrescue," suggested his companion. But it was not that, as the boyslearned a moment later.
Waving a slip of paper over his head, Mr. Ringold cried:
"I've got news, boys! News of our missing friends!"
"Really!" cried Joe.
"Yes, they heard from them in the New York office. I just received atelegram. It's quite a story."
"Where are they?" Blake wanted to know.
"Somewhere down the river," answered Mr. Ringold. "A message came fromthem in a bottle."
"A bottle!" cried Joe.
"Yes. They must have been carried down on the flood, and only had timeto write a hasty message and fling it, stopped up in a bottle, into theriver. Here's a long telegram from the New York office. I'll condensewhat it says."
"Then it's really news from them--from Birdie Lee and the others?" askedBlake.
"It surely is," answered the manager. "What happened after they went tothe island to make moving pictures isn't stated. But a few days ago thistelegram came to the New York office."
He then read:
"We are being carried down the river on part of a house that was washed away in the sudden flood. We are all together, but suffering very much. The waters rose very suddenly. Cannot tell where we will land. I am writing this and putting it in a bottle, which I will throw into the flood. Someone may pick it up and transmit it to you. Come to us if you can!"
For a moment the boys were silent, and then Blake asked:
"How did the message get to New York?"
"I had to make inquiries to find that out," replied Mr. Ringold. "Itseems that the bottle was washed ashore and picked up by a colored man.He took it to his employer, who read the messages inside. They weresigned by Mr. Levinberg, who also put in a five-dollar bill, to insurethe sending of the telegram. With the note he wrote for transmission tome was one asking the finder of the bottle to take the message to thenearest telegraph office."
"But where was the bottle picked up? Where may we expect to find ourfriends?" asked Blake.
"Somewhere below here, I think," said Mr. Ringold. "The message was sentfrom a telegraph office about a hundred miles above here. Our friendsprobably drifted on the flood near there. They are still inthe--beyond----" and he motioned to the flooded section lying to theSouth.
"Then let's start!" cried Joe. "Every minute counts."
With the provisions aboard, a new supply of gasoline, and with the filmsBlake was taking when he went overboard safely put away in water proofcases, the rescuers once more took up their voyage.
The remainder of the day they kept on down the flooded river. Severaltimes they came within a short distance of big pieces of debris, andcollisions were narrowly averted.
The afternoon wore away and dusk settled down. It began to rain again,and it was rather a discouraged party that looked out from the cabin ofthe _Clytie_.
"Worse and more of it," murmured Blake, who was at the steering wheel."Will it ever stop?"
"Now, now! None of that C. C. stuff!" spoke Joe with a laugh. "Thingswill come out all right yet. It's something to have had news of ourfriends, when we didn't expect any."
"Yes, but think of the plight they must be in--floating down this riverin some house, that may go to pieces any minute!" cried Blake. "It'sterrible--for Birdie and the others. The men may be able to stand it.But the ladies----"
"Well, perhaps they are rescued by this time," said Joe, cheerfully."That message was dated several days ago, you notice. And it must havebeen two or three days afloat. I have a feeling, somehow, that we'llfind them all right."
"Well, I sure do hope so," spoke Blake. "Pshaw! I oughn't to be thisway!" he exclaimed. "I must look on the brighter side. Perhaps they areall right, after all."
They ate supper in the enclosed cabin, for there was a cold drizzle ofrain that made going outside unpleasant. No one felt much like talking,but the unexpected news had, in a measure, cheered them up.
"If they could only have given us some definite clew," spoke Mr.Ringold. "I'd do anything I could to rescue them. But it is likesearching in the dark."
"And, speaking of the dark, reminds me that it will soon be dark here,and we'll have to look for some place to tie up," remarked Blake. "Ithink we'd better be getting over toward shore."
"And I agree with you," said Mr. Ringold.
He took the wheel, relieving Joe, who had not yet eaten. The craft wasdirected over toward the eastern shore, and a sharp lookout was kept forsome sheltered cove where the night could be spent.
It grew darker rapidly, and the rain increased in violence.
"There's a lot of stuff coming down," observed Blake, as he stood at thewheel, beside Mr. Ringold. "More debris than we've seen in some time."
"That's right," agreed the manager. "There's an island just below us,"he added. "I wonder if, by any chance, our friends could have landed onthat."
"We might stop there and see," suggested Blake. "It might be a goodplace to spend the night."
"I'll try it, at any rate," Mr. Ringold said.
The island, now that the waters had risen on all sides of it, was rathersmall.
The motor boat was steered along the Western shore of it, but a nearerview showed that there could, by no possibility, be any one on it. Forit was long and narrow, and a view could be had entirely across it.
"I guess we won't stop--there's no one there," the manager said, as heveered the boat away.
"No--there's no sign of them," agreed Blake.
They were approaching the foot of the island--that is, the down streamend, and, as the motor boat shot past it, carried by the powerfulcurrent, and her propeller, Blake uttered a cry of alarm.
"Look out for that raft!" he yelled.
Mr. Ringold looked in time to see a big lumber raft, unmanned anduncontrolled, coming down on the other side of the island. It turned thelower end just as the motor did, and before those on board the craftcould do anything to avoid the danger, the raft had collided with them,striking the _Clytie_ on the starboard bow with a resounding crash.
The boat heeled over, and seemed about to capsize.