But here was a “June rise” with a vengeance. Up in the northern pineries the heavy snows of the past winter were melting all at once beneath long-continued rains. Every stream was a torrent, pouring its swollen tide into the Mississippi. As a consequence of this hearty diet, the old Father of Waters had increased his girth enormously. Never was a prize grunter fattened so rapidly.
His bulk began to take up more room than was comfortable for his neighbors. Some persons were forced to flee for their lives; others were prepared to leave their homes at a moment’s notice. Whole towns were in danger of being flooded.
At Beaufort the sewers were being filled and the water, creeping through them, flowed out far inland. Cellars were being invaded; and seeping up, the crafty flood inundated great tracts of street and yard in the lower-lying resident portions of the town.
When, after school on the previous afternoon, Ned had gone down to look at the river, there had been hardly any water inside the tracks at the foot of Maple Street. But this morning the boys found quite a pond had gathered during the night. In places the board walks on either hand were afloat, and children were running back and forth over them, shouting with delight as the water spurted up between the cracks.
“She’s soaking through,” commented Hal.
Ned nodded, and saying, “Come on,” deliberately continued on the route, over the wavy, unsteady walk. Hal followed. Both boys disdained to hurry their pace one bit, even to avoid wet feet. They deemed that a show of dignity was necessary, to impress the scampering, screaming youngsters who were spectators.
With a spring they leaped the open space between the end of the walk and the railroad embankment. Their feet sank deep into the mushy cinders as they scrambled to the top.
This was four tracks wide, and usually was a good stone’s throw from the river’s edge. To-day the water was lapping at the rails. North and south were scattered gangs of men with shovels, watching to patch the slightest break. Seemingly the embankment was all that kept the water from rushing into the principal streets.
Ned and Hal stood and gazed in silent wonder at the scene before them. The river was not that friendly river to which they were accustomed. It was a sullen, menacing monster, without a single familiar aspect. The water was an opaque, ugly yellow, and was thickly charged with sediment. Extending as far as eye could reach it swept past, bearing on its mighty breast trunks of trees, pieces of lumber, fragments of buildings, and not infrequently an entire shed or small house.
There was no levee, no shore, no anything—save water. The big Diamond Jo warehouse, with its basement story completely submerged, was secured by a hawser encircling it.