Anxiously Roy peered through the spray and rain, sheltering his eyes with his hands, and trying to discover where he was going. Behind him were the raging waters of the bay. Far to the right, beyond the houses among which Roy’s raft had drifted, Roy could see more open water. Ahead another stretch of writhing water appeared. Roy judged that the dwellings around him must be on a narrow point of land. If he were washed across that point, a great, open stretch of water would lie before him again. Only to the left could he see dry ground. In that direction were high bluffs. He bent all his efforts toward gaining these heights.
His raft, heavier than most pieces of wreckage, drove through the mass irresistibly under the pressure of the waves. Roy saw that it would surely batter its way across North Beach, and be driven into the water of Nueces Bay, which he had glimpsed beyond. If that happened he would again be helplessly exposed to the fury of the tempest. A long pole came driving by and fell into the water beside Roy’s raft. Roy leaned far over the edge and grasped it. He found that he could touch bottom with it. He tried to work his raft toward the high ground. It was so bulky he could do nothing with it.
Two short telephone-poles, lashed together, were floating near by. Roy leaped on them and found that they would carry him safely. With his pole he was able to shove them through the water and thrust aside obstructing pieces of wreckage. He worked his way clear of the mass and got into what had been a street running toward the bluffs. Now it was like a canal in Venice. The houses on either side stood deep in water. None had yet collapsed and the great mass of wreckage had largely been held back by the rows of houses still standing on the seaward side. Up this watery avenue Roy forced his craft as best he could. The turbulent waves tossed him about, the current continually bore him against the houses, and the wreckage impeded him. By the greatest exertion Roy overcame all obstacles and drove his little raft nearer and nearer his haven.
As he drew closer to the bluffs, the water became shallower. Presently it was no more than waist-deep. All about him people were dropping from their homes into the flood. A woman with a little child appeared at a window directly above Roy’s raft and called for help.
“Drop her,” shouted Roy.
The woman lifted the child through the window and dropped her. Roy caught the sobbing child and placed her on the raft at his feet. The woman crawled from the window and fell into Roy’s arms. He was knocked down, but he managed to hold the woman on the raft. She picked up her child. Roy looked for his pole. It had been washed away. He leaped into the water, which was no more than waist-deep, and tried to drag the raft toward shore. The waves battered and beat him. The raft was tossed about. But Roy clung to it and gradually dragged it into shallower water. Finally he put the baby on his shoulder, and leading the woman by the hand, waded to safety.
All about them scores of wet and terrified persons were similarly seeking safety. “Go to the court-house,” he heard some one say. He inquired the direction and made his way thither with the woman and the child. The streets in the business section were already under water. The court-house was waist-deep, but they gained it in safety. “Thank God!” exclaimed Roy.
In the building were scores and scores of terrified refugees, huddling together in white-faced fear. Nobody knew what might happen. For a moment Roy did not know what to do. He looked with a sick heart at the sad company about him. He could do nothing to help them. Then he thought of the white faces he had seen in the doomed houses past which he had floated. He knew what his duty was. He bent and kissed the child he had rescued. “Good luck!” he said to her, and turning away from this haven of safety, went out again into the flood.