The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII
THE COTTON BARGE
For a moment there was the utmost confusion aboard the craft. The words of Blake, the sudden motion as the rope broke, the tossing and pitching, as the boat was borne on the crest of the flood, seemed to deprive them all of the ability to act.
Blake himself had nearly been carried overboard, so suddenly did the cable part, but he managed to grasp a rail and so saved himself.
"Can you see anything?" yelled Mr. Ringold, as he was struggling into his raincoat.
"Only when it lightens," answered Blake. "It's a fierce storm, all right."
The others came out on deck, and, as flash succeeded flash, they viewed the mad scene all about them.
On raced the motor boat, a frail thing indeed in that wild waste of waters.
"We've got to start the engine!" yelled Mr. Ringold, for one needed to yell to be heard above that storm. "It's the only way we can be safe," the manager added. "Start the motor!"
"And where will we steer?" Mr. Piper wanted to know.
"Anywhere we can, to get in some sheltered place," suggested Blake. "But it's doubtful if we can stem this wind and current."
"We'll have to quarter it," spoke Mr. Ringold, when he had taken an observation, by the aid of a lightning flash.
Meanwhile Joe and Mr. Piper had started the motor, and, as the welcome throb and hum were heard, Blake and the manager went to the wheel.
"Better light up," the moving picture man said. "No telling what we may run into, or what might run into us. There are probably boats afloat, bad as the storm is."
Save for a single light in the cabin, and a riding light outside, the Clytie was in darkness when the cable parted. But now the incandescents were switched on. They were operated by a large storage battery, charged by a dynamo, run by the motor flywheel.
With a powerful searchlight at her bow, her stern light, and the red and green side lamps, as well as the cabin lights, aglow, the craft now presented a more cheerful aspect, and she was certainly safer. The lights, too, helped to take away the really terrifying effect of the vivid lightning.
The place at the wheel was partitioned off, and that little pilot house, as it were, was left in darkness, to enable Blake and Mr. Ringold to see to steer.
They could do little, however, save to try and cross the current in a diagonal direction, to make their way to some sheltered cove.
"This certainly is the limit!" murmured Blake, as he stood at the manager's side. "I didn't think there was any more rain left in the clouds."
"There seems to be plenty coming down," observed the theatrical man, grimly. They listened to it pelting on the cabin roof. It was a constant roar, and added to it was the thunder of the sky artillery, following each flash, and the never-ceasing hiss and hum of the rushing river.
"We'll have to look out for debris as best we can," spoke Mr. Ringold. "There are some big logs afloat, and if one hits us end on"
He did not finish, but Blake realized what he meant.
"Look! That struck just in front of us!" cried the youth, as he and his companion shrank back, instinctively, from a particularly vivid flash.
His words were drowned in the shock that followed, and indeed it was seen that the bolt had struck the water but a little way in advance of the boat. A smell, as of sulphur, filled the air, and there was a sensation as though everyone aboard the craft had received a mild electric shock.
"That was close enough!" murmured Joe, as he come into the cabin, after having seen to the oiling of the motor.
"I should say so!" agreed Mr. Piper, who followed him.
Try as Mr. Ringold did to send the craft out of the main current, he seemed unable to accomplish it. It was as though the boat were in the grip of some powerful hand, that was shoving her forward.
Several times, as they fairly flew onward, the propeller aiding the current in making speed, those aboard felt the bumps and shocks as they struck objects in the water. Fortunately the debris was moving at considerable speed also, and in the same direction as was the motor boat, or serious damage might have been done.
"There goes another hit!" cried Blake, as he saw a second lightning bolt descend into the water. This one, though, was far enough off so that no unpleasant effects were felt by our friends. The bolt from the sky, however, hit and split wide open a big tree that was floating down stream.
"If it strikes us," murmured Mr. Piper, "we'll" And then he thought better of what he was evidently going to say, and did not finish his sentence.
"It's of no use," said Mr. Ringold, after a while, "We can't make any headway across the river. We'll just have to go on and trust to luck."
He and Blake kept a sharp lookout ahead, and managed to avoid, several times, collisions with floating debris in the shape of logs, and parts of buildings.
As they rounded a turn, which could be made out by the flashes of lightning, Blake uttered a cry.
"What's that—just ahead?" he shouted.
He pointed to a large black object, looming up on the right.
At the same moment there came another flash, seemingly of greater intensity than any that had preceded it. The flash appeared to completely envelope the big, dark object, and with one voice Blake and Mr. Ringold cried:
"A cotton barge!"
"And struck by lightning, too!" added Blake, a second later, as, despite the downpour of rain, flames burst from several places on the loaded boat.
The lightning had indeed set fire to the cotton, which was floating down the river. It had probably broken away from the place where it had been moored, or from the tug that was towing it. Rapidly the flames gained headway, and, as there came a sudden cessation to the rain, which might have extinguished them, the tongues of fire leaped higher and higher.
"I hope we will be able to keep well away from her," murmured Mr. Ringold, and for a time it seemed as though they might, for the burning barge was well in advance of our friends.
But it was a vain hope. A little later the barge suddenly grounded on some obstruction, and remained stationary, while the motor boat was borne down directly on it.
"Steer to one side!" yelled Blake.
"I'm trying to!" echoed the manager, but it was easily seen that he was not going to be able to do this in time. A moment later the Clytie poked her bow against the barge, with great force.
Fortunately, however, a bale of cotton, hanging partly overboard, took the brunt of the blow, so no damage was done.
"Back water!" cried Joe. "We'll be on fire in another minute!"
It certainly seemed so, for though they had struck the barge at a place where, for the time being, there were no flames, the fire was rapidly enveloping the whole cargo.
Mr. Ringold pulled the reversing lever, throwing in the gears, but the craft remained with her bow still against the cotton barge. The force of the current back of the Clytie was too much for her to overcome. She was gradually being swung around sideways to the barge.
The flames were getting hotter. They roared and crackled, and vied with the thunder and lightning in adding to the scene of terror.
"Send her ahead!" suddenly cried Blake. "That's our only chance!"
"What for?" demanded his chum.
"We may be able to shove the barge off the bar, or away from the snag, or whatever is holding her. Then she'll drift away from us. It's our only chance!"
"You're right!" cried Mr. Ringold.
Once more he changed the lever, and now the propeller beat the muddy water to foam, as the bow of the motor boat pushed hard against the side of the barge.
And Blake's advice proved to be the best. For, hanging an instant on the bar that had caught her, the barge suddenly gave way, and now, almost completely wrapped in flames, she once more started on her journey down the swirling torrent.
Then Mr. Ringold was able, by a quick turn of the helm, and by speeding up the engine, to swing to one side, and away from the burning craft, which was left to go on to her own destruction.
"Whew! Hot work!" exclaimed Blake.
"I should say so," agreed Joe.
The first fury of the storm seemed now to have passed. The thunder was less heavy, and the lightning not so vivid. The rain had started again, but it was a mere drizzle.
For several miles more the Clytie went on, at the mercy of the current, and then, as the lightning flash revealed a little cove to one side, Mr. Ringold determined to steer for it.
To his delight he found that the boat answered her helm well, the river being wider at this point, and the current less powerful. And then, a little later, they were able to come into comparatively quiet waters, where, with the aid of the searchlight, they found a big tree, to which they tied, and with double cables.