“Is there any town near by—below here?” asked Mr. Ringold. Their supplies were getting low, and needed replenishing.
“Yes, quite a good sized one about three mile down the river. The folks is workin’ hard too, to keep the water out. There’s a big shipment of cotton on the wharves waitin’ for a boat to take it off, I hear. But if she don’t come pretty soon the cotton will go floatin’ off by itself. They can’t git no help to move it back, ’cause all the men are busy on the levee.”
“That might make a good picture for us,” suggested Blake to Joe, when they had called good-bye to the farmer who was looking for his “spotted cow critter.”
“I believe it would,” agreed Joe. “We’ll have a try at it, anyhow.”
“Kill two birds with one stone,” said Mr. Ringold, “we’ll get supplies, and pictures too.”
They started down stream, proceeding with care, for there was an unusual quantity of debris in the river—logs, part of lumber rafts, dismantled houses, barns and sheds. But the Clytie was navigated safely through it all.
Our friends had gone about a mile, when, as they went around a wooded point of land, they saw a curious sight. It was a large steamer, stranded inland, about a quarter of a mile from the water. It was listed to one side, and about it were many men, engaged in digging a trench, or canal, so as to float the craft back into the stream.
“Well, what do you know about that?” cried Joe, in surprise.
“Got to film her, all right!” declared Blake.
“How could such a thing happen?” C. C. Piper wanted to know.