Scores had been killed or were missing. Had the disaster occurred in the daytime, it might have been possible to save many of them. But coming as it did, just at nightfall, the flood had done its worst. To venture out into the roaring waters in the dark was sheer suicide. There had been some rescues. They told Jimmy about those they knew of. There had been many deeds of daring. Jimmy learned the stories. Now a great effort was being made to save those who were still in danger. For the waters were yet deep and the current swift. Indeed, in the centre of the town the water was still eight feet deep and sweeping along swiftly, cutting away ground, undermining houses, uprooting poles, and spreading destruction. The work of rescue had been made difficult through the loss of boats. Most of the boats in the town had been swept away in the first fierce rush of water.
There was one little boat at hand. It was a rickety, sorry-looking craft, and it evidently leaked badly. But still it was a boat. Jimmy looked at it. He decided that it would hold together for a few hours longer.
“Who owns this boat?” he inquired.
“I do,” said a farmer. “But it ain’t much of a boat. I caught it in the flood last night.”
“I’ll give you five dollars for it for one hour,” said Jimmy.
“You can have it,” said the farmer, “but I warn you it ain’t safe to get in it. We tried it and had to come back. The thing almost sunk with us.”
“We’ll try it,” said Jimmy. “Got something we can bail with?”
The farmer got them an old pail. There were oars in the boat. Jimmy got two strong poles from a pile of wood that lay near.
“Come on, Carl,” he said, stepping toward the craft. “Let’s empty her.”
They drew the boat ashore and turned it on its side. When the water had run out, they pushed the craft into the flood, stepped carefully into it, and shoved off. The farmer’s description had not been exaggerated. Water began to seep into the boat rapidly.