CHAPTER XVIII
BACK INTO THE STORM
The rising waters forced him again to seek safety. He struggled through them and reached dry land. He was almost exhausted. He had had no food since supper time the night before. For hours he had been exposed to wind and water. He had almost reached the limit of endurance. He staggered on, not knowing what to do or where to go. A boy scout came hurrying by.
“Where could I get a bite to eat?” asked Roy. “I’m nearly dead.”
“Go to the Red Cross headquarters in the First Presbyterian Church,” replied the scout, and directed Roy how to find the church.
Roy staggered on. He was so nearly exhausted that he could hardly make his way up to the church. Other refugees, like himself, were heading for the place. It was a sorry procession. At length the church was reached. There was food in abundance and coffee steaming hot. Roy ate as though famished. He drank cup after cup of coffee. Never had he tasted anything so good. The coffee warmed and stimulated him. His strength returned to him as he rested and ate. He watched the Red Cross women as they ministered to other refugees. He admired the cool, skilled way they did their work, the quiet manner in which they cared for others when perhaps their own homes were imperiled. The thought was like a galvanic shock to Roy. This was no place for him, this warm and comfortable church. He had a duty to perform, too. His duty was out there in the storm. And again he thought of those white faces at the windows.
Back into the storm he plunged, seeking where he might be most helpful. In no time he was at the water’s edge again. Scores of persons were still marooned in their houses. They must be gotten out or they would be drowned. The water was almost at its highest and the storm was licking up dwelling after dwelling. Roy looked about him. Four white faces were peering from a near-by house. Roy waded toward it. The water crept up around him but he gained the building. The sea had broken open a door. Roy entered, found the stairway, and went up to the terrified inmates. They were a mother and three little girls.
“Come quick,” he said, “or it will be too late.”
The children held back, afraid to step into the water. “Get on my back,” said Roy, picking up the largest child.
He went down the stairs and struggled to land. The water was waist-deep and running like a mill-race.