“Wait until you get on the Mississippi,” remarked a deck hand. “Then you’ll see some water.”
And the boys did. As they emerged around a bend in the high banks, they had a good view of the Father of Waters as it swept on. It was almost terrifying, and the tug, though extra steam was put on, was barely able to make headway.
“It’s getting worse every minute!” the captain murmured. “I don’t know what we’ll do if this keeps on!”
It was not far, from where the train was stalled, to Hannibal, but the tug was over an hour in making it. The lower part of the town near the river bottom, was under water, but the residential section had, so far, escaped, being built back on high ground.
“Now I’ll go back after the others,” said the captain, when he had made a landing, not without some difficulty, at a temporary dock.
“And we’ll see if we can get into a hotel,” suggested Mr. Ringold, “though I guess most of them will be over-crowded.”
This was found to be the case. Many persons had been driven from their homes, and forced to go to the hotels, and, as several of these hostelries had been rendered uninhabitable, those that escaped the flood were taxed to the limit of their capacity.
“It’s a good thing my other actors decided not to come along,” remarked the manager, as he and the boys, with Mr. Piper, found that all the accommodations they could get were two small rooms, fitted up with cots. “But we won’t be here any longer than we can help. I’m going to charter a boat, and start on the search for the missing ones.”
“And if this rain ever lets up we’ll get some pictures,” declared Blake.
At the hotel were many whose homes had either been washed away, or rendered uninhabitable, and they were being cared for by the relief committee, that had been hastily formed. Most of these persons were poor, having their homes in the lower section of the city, and many pathetic stories were told. There had been some lives lost, and a number had been injured by being thrown into the water, and struck by floating debris.