The absence of permanent docks, or wharves, close to the water was due to the sudden rise and fall of the stream at this point. Sometimes the steamers could come up to the permanent wharves, at the top of the levee. At others they were some distance off, and goods had to be moved down the slope in wagons, to the temporary landing stages, thrown out by the boats.
The danger to the town, should the levee give way, was so evident, that every available man had been called on to strengthen the sloping bank, which kept back the waters. The owners of the cotton, it seems, had appealed in vain for help in moving their cargo back out of danger, and so they were obliged to do the work themselves. And it was no easy matter to handle the big, clumsy bales.
The motor boat was tied where it would not be in the way, and, from the bow, Joe and Blake took a series of moving pictures while Mr. Ringold and C. C. went ashore to get some supplies, and make inquiries regarding the missing theatrical company.
In regard to the latter, however, they received no satisfaction. Nothing had been seen or heard of them. The telegraph line, however, was in good working order, and Mr. Ringold sent a message to his New York office, asking if any news had been received from the missing ones.
“We’ll wait for a reply,” he said. “It ought not to take many hours, and we can easily spare the time.”
“Joe,” remarked Blake, when they had filmed several views of the scenes at the levee, “suppose we take the boat down stream a short distance. I want to get nearer to the piles of cotton, so they will show up well on the screen.”
“All right. I can work the boat, and you can manage the camera.”
Mr. Ringold and the actor were up in the town, but the manager had told the boys they might move the boat about as they pleased in getting pictures.
Accordingly Joe cast off the line, started the motor and headed the craft nearer to the cotton wharf.
“Hold her there now!” cried Blake, as he took a position at the bow with the camera.