He and Blake kept a sharp lookout ahead, and managed to avoid, several times, collisions with floating debris in the shape of logs, and parts of buildings.
As they rounded a turn, which could be made out by the flashes of lightning, Blake uttered a cry.
“What’s that—just ahead?” he shouted.
He pointed to a large black object, looming up on the right.
At the same moment there came another flash, seemingly of greater intensity than any that had preceded it. The flash appeared to completely envelope the big, dark object, and with one voice Blake and Mr. Ringold cried:
“A cotton barge!”
“And struck by lightning, too!” added Blake, a second later, as, despite the downpour of rain, flames burst from several places on the loaded boat.
The lightning had indeed set fire to the cotton, which was floating down the river. It had probably broken away from the place where it had been moored, or from the tug that was towing it. Rapidly the flames gained headway, and, as there came a sudden cessation to the rain, which might have extinguished them, the tongues of fire leaped higher and higher.
“I hope we will be able to keep well away from her,” murmured Mr. Ringold, and for a time it seemed as though they might, for the burning barge was well in advance of our friends.
But it was a vain hope. A little later the barge suddenly grounded on some obstruction, and remained stationary, while the motor boat was borne down directly on it.