All finally got upon the bluff, rejoiced to feel solid ground once more beneath their feet. But it was a desolate prospect that they saw before them. The face of the land had been scoured and gullied by the pouring waters, the vegetation had been stripped off, except where in hollows it had been covered with new-formed lakes, some of which had drained off after the downpour ceased, the water finding its way into the enveloping sea.
They asked the three men what had become of the other inhabitants, and whether there was any shelter at hand.
"We've be'n wiped out," said the original spokesman. "Cosmo Versál has done a pretty clean job with his flood. There's a kind of a cover that we three hev built, a ways back yonder, out o' timber o' one kind and another that was lodged about. But it wouldn't amount to much if there was another cloudburst. It wouldn't stand a minute. It's good to sleep in."
"Are you the only survivors in this region?" asked the President.
"I reckon you see all thet's left of us. The' ain't one out o' a hundred that's left alive in these parts."
"What became of them?"
"Swept off!" replied the man, with an expressive gesture—"and drownded right out under the sky."
"And how did you and your companions escape?"
"By gitting up amongst some rocks that was higher'n the average."
"How did you manage to live—what did you have to eat?"