The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
OFF AGAIN
"More dirt over here!"
"Come on now, boys! Lively's the word!"
"Hustle along!"
"Is she rising any more?"
"Strike up a song, boys, and run; don't walk!"
These were only a few of the remarks that could be heard along the levee that night. The rain drizzled down at intervals, as the colored men, in long lines, with wheelbarrows, brought up earth and stones, to strengthen the banks against which the muddy Mississippi beat and surged. The levee was like a dam along the course of the stream, and back of this dam lay the town. If the levee gave way the town might be wiped out.
Now and then a group of the negro laborers would break out into what was probably some old plantation song, and to the rude but not unmusical melody their feet moved in quicker time, as they brought up the earth and stones for filling.
"Put more of it in bags," directed Colonel Whitmore, who, as the boys learned, was the man to whom they had first spoken. "It will hold better in bags, boys. Lively now!"
And while squads of men, up the hill where the dirt was being dug, shoveled the earth into bags, others wheeled them down and dumped, or placed, them where directed by the white men.
Blake, Joe, Mr. Ringold and C. C. Piper helped in this work, and though they were only requested to oversee the negroes, they did not hesitate to use their own muscles when they were needed.
In fact, Colonel Whitmore himself, and his friends, worked harder than did any of the black men, who were naturally slow.
"If she goes, boys, it's all up with us, and we'll have to leave everything, and take to the hills," the colonel said. "So be lively, boys!"
"Come on now, everybody sing!" cried one big negro, and he fairly ran with his heavy load, his example being followed by others.
"Oh, if we could only get some pictures of this!" exclaimed Blake, during a lull in the levee operations.
"It's too dark," decided Joe.
"You can get some to-morrow morning," Colonel Whitmore told them. "We'll still be here in the morning, unless the river rises too suddenly."
"Is it going up fast now?" asked Mr. Ringold.
"About an inch an hour, and that's fast enough for us," was the grim answer, and the Southerner looked at a stick he had thrust into the bank at the edge of the stream, to keep watch of the rate of rise. It was marked with little notches, an inch apart, and these notches were slowly, but gradually and relentlessly, being covered by the rising flood of the Mississippi.
All through the night they toiled, the moving picture boys working with feverish energy to do what they could to help save the town. There was really no obligation on them to do this, but they felt a friendly interest in those whose homes were in danger from the great flood.
And the boys, also, might be said to have a little selfish motive. They wanted to get moving pictures of the work of strengthening the levee, as this would form part of the series of stirring views they hoped to get. Thus another of the many phases of the work of fighting the flood could be shown.
Barrow-load after barrow-load of dirt was piled on the levee, and bags of earth and stone placed where they would do the most good. Everyone was working hard, by the light of the flaring torches. It was hard, dirty and unpleasant labor, for it rained at intervals, all night. Splashing through the mud, slipping and sliding on the treacherous footing, Joe and Blake toiled with the rest. They wore their rubber boots and raincoats, which, in a great measure, protected them.
And, be it said to the credit of Christopher Cutler Piper, he labored as hard as any of the others, and never made a complaint.
"It's coming morning," said Colonel Whitmore, as he pointed to a faint gray streak in the east. "We'll have better light to work by, soon."
Slowly the light grew, and, with the coming of the dawn, the rain ceased—at least for a time.
"That'll give us time to catch our breaths," spoke the Southerner, with a sigh of relief. "But she hasn't stopped rising," he added, as he looked at the stick-gauge. "Too much water up above," and he nodded in the direction whence the boys had come, down the stream. "It'll be days before she goes down."
As soon as it was light enough, Blake and Joe got out a moving picture camera, and began taking views of the work at the levee. More laborers had come with the advent of daylight, and other white men arrived to relieve those who had overseen the work during the hours of darkness.
The scene on the levee was a lively one, and also a dangerous one, for the waters were beating with ever-increasing force on the sloping wall of earth and stones, that held back the raging torrent from the town.
"This will be one great picture," murmured Joe, as he contemplated the series of scenes.
"That is, if you get a chance to develop it, and show it," remarked Mr. Piper.
"What do you mean?" asked Blake.
"Well, it looks to me as if this flood was going to get worse, and if we go down stream, where the river is wider, we may not be able to pull through."
"Hold on there!" cried Mr. Ringold, shaking a warning finger at the actor. "Don't let your liver get away with you."
"That's so—I forgot," exclaimed C. C. "I guess we'll pull through all right, after all," he added in more cheerful tones.
"That's the way to talk!" cried Blake, encouragingly.
That was one peculiar trait of Mr. Piper's. He could be gloomy when there was no particular danger, save what he imagined was in prospect. And then, when a crisis came, he rose to the emergency, and was a real help.
The sun tried to break through the clouds, as Joe and Blake finished their pictures, for they did not want to give too much film space showing the mere work of strengthening the levee.
"We want to save some in case—well, not to make a gloomy prediction—but in case the levee breaks," said Blake.
"And it looks to me as though it would go—if this rain keeps up and the river continues to rise," said Mr. Ringold. "I don't know that we can do much else here, so I think we might as well start off again, and continue our search."
They had taken rooms at the hotel the evening before, but they had had very little use of them, since they had spent the night on the levee. Their motor boat had been tied up at a dock.
"Well, let's go up to the hotel, wash, have breakfast, and then continue our voyage," suggested Blake. "Might as well do that as to try to cook aboard. We'll have more room at the Mansion House."
His companions agreed with him, and they were soon enjoying the luxury of a bath and a good meal.
They had scarcely finished, however, before a messenger came up from the river on the run.
"Where's the folks that own that there motor boat?" he demanded, "the folks that helped Colonel Whitmore last night?"
"Here we are!" called Blake.
"What's the trouble?" Joe wanted to know, for the messenger appeared excited.
"You'd better get your craft out of the way," went on the man. "The river's started to rise suddenly, and she may be damaged where she is."
"We'll get right down to her," exclaimed Mr. Ringold, and, paying their bill, they hastened to the dock. They found the Clytie pulling and straining at her mooring ropes, for the river had indeed risen and the cables were taut, caused by the elevation of the boat at the dock.
"All aboard!" called Mr. Ringold, and soon they were under way again. There was no need of their assistance at the levee, for all possible was being done by the town inhabitants, and those on the elevated bank of dirt and stones waved a farewell to our friends, as they went on down the raging river.