The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 19, 1903, Page 7

Harvey was giad. grateful, for it re such sights were them. The demon ave his toll; he had s and his maw was tie avail is the puny . when Nature has set free f t Soveus? pt down stream along ge great and small, bound volume whose years been on the table in that strange old Was & description of another mehow, as Harvey looked out . = of water, the bald cluge hammered itself @ the waters prevailed exceedingly the earth and ail the high hills that ere under the who - - whole heaven were cov- e ey glanced et bis wife, as she sat on the gro with her arms s two boys, and felt as perhaps father felt in he waters pre- I \med, fearful likeness between the ll) s. The flood, of which he had warned, had come; the arks on ch he had depended had floated awa of reach; the hilitop on which he taken refuge was gradually becoming submerged. What would be the end? W would be the end? But he must not think of such things. . was weak and foolish. They were caught in a bad place, the water was slowly making it a worse one, b there was stiil hope. It was not probable that the ficod would reach the ground on which th were; it was more likely that it wcx_lfl begin to recede before it got that hi y would suffer from hunger and ., ves, they would suffer much from those—but they would be able to bold out until they were rescued or found means to rescue themselves. “The water is still rising, George. I've been watching that little bush down there nd it is covered now. Do you think Bal- lard will remember us, and try—to—save— us?™ George bent over his wife quickly and pressed a hot kiss on her forehead. “Don’t lose heart, dear; we're in a tight place, God knows, but we'll get out of it. John went down the river to warn others, but he’ll remember us and come back. It will be & risky thing to try bringing a boat across that current, but I think John will : know the sort of stuff John e of, Nell. He's not the aw back from a risk John Ballard was not that kind of But don't count on John, George arlier in the day just such a presented itself to John Bal- . e dared l(, Even as you are £, the body of John Ballard, hero, d up with oxher deb; miles and Heroism has already So the day wore away and the night came down upon them thus; a night dark and threatening, with no light save the host phosphorescence of the rushing waters. With infinite pains they lulled the two boys to sleep, covering them as as they could with coat and dress, but for themseives there was only tense wakefulness. The last thing the waning light had shown them was that the water was rising. It might reach them almost tme now; the currents that had ly divided and gone to either side of T might at any moment swing to- ward them. But what could they do? Nothing: nothing until daylight. anyway. The cold night wind chilied them to the marrow and now and then Herman or Henry, feeling it alse through their scant coverings, awoke to moan childishly. What a night it was! The wind walling over thekn, the flood hissing and whisper- ing around them and, 1arther away, roar- y. And the terrible thought re in the darkness white faces d hands were being whirled past them, while nearer and nearer to them the little, muddy waves were creep- THE SUNDAY CALL. ing up, preparing to drag them upder also. t was some time after midnight when changipg her position, felt the wa. er. Invoiuntarily she cried out, “George! and then choked with fear. A little later and a wave lapped up on the other side of them and they had to rise to their feet. Beyond that sudden cry and the halt- conscious whimperings of the wakened children nothing was said. It was not a time for words. Three hours later the water was ankle deep. By this time it was light enough to see, and God! what a prospect! Nothing but water—a vast, muddy flood raging to either side of them and lapping up and eddying around their feet. It was a good thing for them that the currents were so far away from them; and yet, this very fact precluded all hope of their getting hold of anything to carry them away. In the dim light they could make out wreckage going by, but the larger pleces kept in the main current, where there was no chance of their get- ting to them. And was the current so far away? As the water rose higher around them would not the current follow? At sunrise the water had deepened to their knees. For hours now each had held one of the children and already their arms were aching. How proud they had been that their two boys were so strong and healthy! How gayly George had been wont to toss them up of an evening, weighing them by turn to see if they were still twins! But now—would it not have been better if they had not grown so rap- idly? Would Ballard never come? Poor Ballard! Slowly the water deepened, and—yes, the current was coming with it. The wom- an’s skirts were pulled geatly backward, and the man feit it also. And now the first tangible hope came. Far up the stream a big piece of wreckage was ap- proaching. It was a portiom of & house, a raft. With their watched it; with their souls es they prayed for it. Would it keep the middle of ¢ stream n:.! so pass beyond their reach? rced over the drift inte ? They felt that all de- g of that plece of passed them—God only e down to where e quieter wa! pended on wreckage. K k. hung there for the ash and thes—swung i “Thank God!" exc.‘.med Harvey, and feit like shouting. Fate's hand is still on that bit of wreck- age, and see! right band curremt catches at it, misses, catches at it again, now it s out once more and is drifting rapk down stream. And so hope came to them, tantalized them for a few excruciating moments and then left m weak and shakenm. But the worst was to come. At Har- vey’s suggestion they had set the children astride of their necks that the weight of them might bear on thelr shoulders and thus be longer borne. The little £« did not fret much, in spite of their loss of sleep, their hunger and the cold. But the weight of them! Unable to ease them- selves of their burden even for a moment, with the water new nearly up to thelr waists and having to brace themselves agal a constantly increasing current, both paremts fgit that it would not be long before !hey would have to give up. If they could but change their positions; if they could only ease themseives of their burdens for one moment. But neither tking could be dome, unless— The grim gods of torture may kmow something of the ordeal through which George Harvey went to reach the decision of speech; but no human being can b more than a vagus idea of it, unless, 1'Re George Harvey, he has gone through it To give one child that the other might be saved! “No, no, George! My God, no!” is the only thing to do. we can hold one up for gh, perhaps, to save hold up both—" The woman w bbing. She eontroiled her voice with a mighty effort. She look- ed up with an un able agony in her eyes, forcing a smile to her lips. “Batter that, George: better we all g0 together! Let us do that, Geofy For a moment the man wavered. Why ot? If one must go, why not all’ Then omething—God alone knows what— brought his scattered for a rush and ellle, we c the—the other one not sweetheart. We sake of the ot He turned b endure the ag: ;n,ng his gri owe it the our-duty, B up one for the ad from her, unable te y of her reproach, tight- 1