On rushed the little craft. Aboard the Lycoming the seas had seemed terrible. To Roy, in an open boat, they were stupefying in their awfulness. No power of imagination could conjure up anything so terrific as this hellish welter of water. It hissed and seethed and roared and tumbled. It boiled up in fury. It was paralyzing in its awfulness. It benumbed mind and body. Terrified, aghast, Roy huddled down in his seat. Then he thought of the captain. His courage came back. The blood again coursed through his veins. He gripped his oar and bent to his task with a will. He did not believe he would ever reach the shore. But if he were to die, he meant to die like a man. He thought of the wireless operator on the Comal who had bidden him good luck even as he was drifting to what seemed certain death. Roy took a last look at the Empress. “Good luck!” he shouted, then bent to his oar.

The wind snatched the words out of his mouth. The man beside him did not know he had spoken. The clamor of the elements drowned all other sounds. Conversation was impossible. The mate at the stern could not make his orders heard. There was nothing to do but sit tight and row. That helped to steady the boat.

On they went. Now they were down in the trough of a wave. Now they were on a mountainous crest. Thanks to the oil slick, no water came aboard. But the edge of the oil film was near at hand. Straight ahead of them Roy knew the waves were breaking with awful violence. Soon they would be among those unbridled crests. Let but one of them come toppling down upon the little boat and all would be over. Roy gritted his teeth at the thought. “At any rate I’ll die game,” he muttered.

The life-boat mounted upward. Up and up it climbed on the slope of a huge comber. It reached the top.

“Lights ahead!” cried the mate, who was facing forward. “Lights ahead!”

A single oarsman caught the words. From man to man it was shouted the length of the boat. “Lights ahead!” The life-boat topped the wave and plunged forward into the trough. Again it climbed upward. The mate strained his eyes through the blackness. This time he saw many lights stretching for a long distance.

“Land ahead!” he roared. Again the cry was carried forward from man to man, “Land ahead!”

Hope sprang up in Roy’s heart. If they could see lights from a little boat, the lights must be near at hand. Poor Roy! He did not know the lights were high on a bluff and could be seen for miles. “We’re going to make it!” he cried to himself, and fresh courage came to him.

The little boat shot past the protecting oil slick. Roy knew it in a second, even though he could see nothing in the darkness. At once the waters became frenzied. The little craft no longer smoothly rode the swells. She was tossed like a chip in a whirlpool. The waters boiled up under her, seethed around her, and came together with terrific impact. The waves broke with a surging roar past description. To make matters worse, the wind shifted, coming directly off shore. Roy noted the fact with joy. It might mean the salvation of the Empress. Spray filled the air. It flew in blinding, drenching torrents before the blast. It soaked the oarsmen. It began to fill their boat. The awful wind chilled the rowers to the bone. Yet all the time they advanced. Despite the wind, the waves and the power of their own efforts flung them shoreward at an incredible pace. The lights were coming nearer.

Dawn was approaching, too. Low on the horizon the rowers saw the first faint streaks of light. Their courage increased. They bent to their oars with renewed strength. As the light grew, the man at the helm began to pick out objects ahead of him. The distant land was faintly silhouetted against the pale morning sky. Intently he watched, looking for familiar landmarks. Suddenly he knew where he was. The little boat was driving straight for Corpus Christi.

He began to hope that they might reach shore in safety. He knew the harbor well. Mustang Island was dead ahead. Aransas Pass was only slightly to starboard. If he could work the boat over sufficiently, they might shoot through the pass into Corpus Christi Bay and safety. Could he do it?

He leaned against his steering oar and skilfully pointed the life-boat’s nose a bit to starboard. The wind was no longer dead ahead and the craft was no longer running directly with the waves. She was quartering, cutting through them at an angle. This was dangerous, but necessary to ultimate safety. If she could advance a few hundred yards to starboard the channel would be dead ahead and she could run to safety straight before the waves.

She had almost gained her distance when a monster wave broke just behind her. A thousand tons of water came crashing down on the rowers. Boat and oarsmen disappeared from sight, and the wave rushed on shoreward.

Down, down, down into the seething vortex went the crew. Roy thought he would never come to the surface. He tried to fight his way upward but the swirling water sucked him down. He felt as though his lungs would burst. Just when he thought he could hold his breath no longer, his head popped above the water. He gasped for air, then looked about him for his companions.

The boat, overturned, floated near by. Oars were bobbing here and there on the waves. One by one his companions came up. Roy counted heads. All were there but the mate. Something bumped Roy violently from behind. He turned around. The mate, unconscious, had just come to the surface. His own oar had knocked him senseless as the boat capsized.

Roy grabbed the mate by the hair and called for help. Nobody heard him. Everybody was swimming for the overturned boat. A long oar was floating near Roy. He grabbed it, and shoving it ahead of him, fought his way to a second oar, towing the mate behind him. The struggle, though brief, was so violent that it almost exhausted him. He got an oar under each of the mate’s arms. Then slowly treading water and holding fast to the two oars himself, he tried to recover his strength.

Presently the mate regained consciousness. He grabbed the oars convulsively. He did not know that Roy was behind him until he tried to swim and his feet struck him. The mate looked around and saw Roy. He comprehended the situation at a glance. Roy had saved his life. He also saw that their best chance lay in getting to the overturned craft.

“To the boat!” he shouted, taking one oar and leaving the other for Roy. Then he struck off toward the life-boat. The two fought their way back to their comrades, all of whom had reached the boat.

They were trying to right it, but the task proved impossible. Evidently there was considerable air under the boat, for her bottom was high out of water and she was riding the waves buoyantly. One by one they crawled up on the boat and lay flat on their bellies, clinging desperately to the heaving craft. Again and again men slid back into the sea. Their comrades pulled them up again. Once every soul was washed overboard by a breaking wave but all got back.

The cold wind chilled them to the bone, benumbing them. In comparison, the sea felt warm. Finally Roy was so cold he could endure it no longer. He slid from the boat’s bottom and gripping her keel, clung just astern. Only his head and arms were above water. Gradually he grew warmer.

Dawn changed to the full light of day. As every wave lifted them up, the shipwrecked mariners could plainly see the land before them. They could even make out the terrific surges as the waves broke on the shores of Mustang and Rockport Islands. They knew, unless the end came sooner, that there was where the pinch would come—when they had reached the long, sloping beach and were being pounded by the terrific surf. For the sea was bearing them slowly toward land.

An hour passed. They were appreciably nearer land though still far from shore. Another hour went by. Now they were near enough to shore to distinguish small objects on land. The breakers were not far distant. It was close to eight o’clock, though no one in the group knew what the hour was, when the sea began suddenly to move shoreward in a mysterious, irresistible fashion. As though power had been applied to it, the overturned boat started toward the land. Roy tried to scramble up on it. A small wave, traveling shoreward with terrific velocity, banged Roy against the craft, then tore him loose from it, swept over the boat, and sped shoreward. The men clung to the boat frantically. Not one was washed off. The mate was still grasping an oar. He flung it to Roy, who grabbed it and tried to swim back to the life-boat. The current swept him away, but both Roy and his comrades were borne rapidly and irresistibly forward, as wave after wave, each higher than its predecessor, rolled in from the sea, carrying everything before them.

Through the blinding spray and the heaving waters, Roy tried to see where he was going. He could feel himself being carried forward at great speed. He knew he must soon come to land. But the thought of the breakers sickened him. The current had drifted him opposite Mustang Island again. Straight in he drove, but the pounding breakers seemed to diminish as Roy drew near them. Then they disappeared altogether. In another minute Roy was floating over what, a short time before, had been Mustang Island. For the first time he realized that he was in the grasp of a tidal wave. Instantly he thought of Galveston and wondered if Corpus Christi was to suffer as its sister city had done.

But he had small opportunity to think about anything save his own safety. Before Roy knew it he was in the midst of a struggling herd of cattle. Even above the roar of the storm he could hear their frenzied bellowing as the sea swept over their grazing-grounds and carried them into Corpus Christi Bay. More dangerous than the sea was the furious struggling of these frantic animals. With all his might Roy strove to get clear of them. Avoiding striking hoof and plunging horn, he swam to one side of the herd, and the current soon swept him clear of them.

But in his flight he lost his oar. He had now only his own exertions to sustain himself. And his violent efforts to get free of the cattle had tired him utterly. He must find something to help float him and find it soon. He began to look about him. The bay was full of wreckage. A dark object rolling in the waves at a distance attracted Roy. It looked like an overturned boat. Roy swam for it. As he approached, a wave partly righted it. Roy saw before him a good-sized launch. It lifted still farther out of water and he caught the name Waldo. Then the craft rolled back until only one side was visible above the flood. But that was enough to sustain Roy, and with a thankful heart he crawled up on the stricken launch and lay down on it at full length.

The current bore him on and on and great waves continued to roll in from the sea. The wind was blowing as violently as any wind Roy had encountered in all the days of storm through which he had passed. But within the landlocked bay the waves were pigmies compared to the giant rollers in the Gulf. Furthermore, the inrushing tidal wave seemed to beat down and flatten all opposing waves. Roy felt sure that he would now reach the shore in safety.

Presently his strength came back to him. He sat up and looked about him. Already the inrushing tide had carried him far up the bay. He judged that this might be eight or ten miles wide. How long it was he could not guess, though he was certain that its length must be at least double its width. Far to the west he could dimly see there was a city. There were high bluffs there and he felt sure that he saw buildings. But the blinding spray made his vision uncertain.

Wreckage floated on all sides of him. Telephone-poles, uprooted trees, fence-posts, logs, planks, roofs, doorsteps, porches, parts of buildings, and a thousand other floating objects filled the bay. The farther Roy traveled, the more numerous became these floating objects. Soon Roy began to fear that he might be pounded to death by the wreckage. It began to collect about his boat and to beat against it. Suddenly a great log was catapulted, end on, straight at the Waldo. With a crash that was audible above the storm it stove in one entire side of the launch and the Waldo disappeared amid the swirling wreckage. But Roy had foreseen what would happen. Scrambling to his feet, he leaped far to one side as the boat sank, and swimming under water came up clear of the wreckage. A large tree was floating near by, riding majestically through the waves. Roy swam to it, and, grasping some roots, pulled himself up on the trunk. To his horror he found a rattlesnake coiled up on the tree. For a moment Roy was on the point of jumping back into the water. But the reptile showed no disposition to molest him, and Roy stuck to the log. He kept one eye on the snake and watched closely for a new support.

The current drove him on and on, though all the while it shunted him toward the south shore. Now he could plainly see the city. It was apparent the waves were carrying him straight for it. As he drew near he saw that the water had already spread far up in the town. Waves were surging about all the houses in the lower part of the city. From these houses persons were wading toward the higher ground far inland. It was an awful sight. Block after block of dwellings stood in the flood, and Roy could see that every minute the waters were rising higher. Everywhere little groups of refugees were struggling through the swirling waves, slipping, stumbling, clinging desperately to one another as they raced with death through the rising waters. With incredible swiftness the flood deepened around the doomed dwellings.

People appeared at second-story windows. Terrified men, women, and children who had lingered too long, leaned from these windows with blanched faces, looking for means of rescue. The floating wreckage, now blown together in solid masses, drove into the city and began to batter the inundated dwellings. Roy shuddered. He knew what it meant.

Even as he looked a dwelling collapsed, spreading apart like a house of cards and falling into the flood. “Great God!” cried Roy, shuddering with horror. There had been faces at the second-story window. Another house went down. A third split in half, like a beef riven along the chine, and the two halves leaned away from each other and toppled over into the flood. By the height of the water on the buildings Roy judged that the waves must be ten feet deep. House after house went down. As each collapsed, the wreckage added volume to the mass of floating dÉbris that was battering the city to pieces. Now dwellings went down by tens, now by scores. They disappeared faster than Roy could count. The noise of the tempest and the battering of house against house was indescribable.

Everywhere men, women, and children were leaping from their homes into the flood. Some disappeared forever. Some were able to crawl up on floating timbers. Some were crushed beyond recognition. As the houses fell apart, the terrible wind picked up boards and planks and hurled them hither and thither. The air was filled with flying timbers. A great board came sailing directly toward Roy. It would have killed him had it touched him. He fell flat on the tree trunk and the board whizzed over his shoulder.

But the movement brought Roy within a few inches of the snake. Terrified, he leaped to his feet again and began to look for another refuge. The side of a house floated by. It was within twenty feet. Gathering himself for the effort, Roy leaped on a large timber, then to a telegraph-pole, and from that to the side of the house. He reached it safely. It was still firm and it rode high out of water. Evidently there were big timbers beneath it, buoying it up. Roy found that he could walk around on it safely.

The sight of so many persons distressed and dying was sickening. Roy’s heart cried out to rescue them but he was helpless. His raft was wedged in a mass of dÉbris acres in extent, that grew as every collapsing house was added to it, that became every moment more compact, and that was flung forward by the irresistible current, mowing down houses as a scythe topples over grain. He dared not try to cross the floating mass. Inevitably he would have sunk through it. Once beneath the mass death would have been certain. All he could do was to stick to his raft and wait for the moment for escape.

On and on drove the mass. Where a few minutes previously houses had stood by hundreds, there were now only acres and acres of tossing dÉbris. On every side Roy saw refugees, riding like himself on the wreckage or clinging to floating logs or planks.

Anxiously Roy peered through the spray and rain, sheltering his eyes with his hands, and trying to discover where he was going. Behind him were the raging waters of the bay. Far to the right, beyond the houses among which Roy’s raft had drifted, Roy could see more open water. Ahead another stretch of writhing water appeared. Roy judged that the dwellings around him must be on a narrow point of land. If he were washed across that point, a great, open stretch of water would lie before him again. Only to the left could he see dry ground. In that direction were high bluffs. He bent all his efforts toward gaining these heights.

His raft, heavier than most pieces of wreckage, drove through the mass irresistibly under the pressure of the waves. Roy saw that it would surely batter its way across North Beach, and be driven into the water of Nueces Bay, which he had glimpsed beyond. If that happened he would again be helplessly exposed to the fury of the tempest. A long pole came driving by and fell into the water beside Roy’s raft. Roy leaned far over the edge and grasped it. He found that he could touch bottom with it. He tried to work his raft toward the high ground. It was so bulky he could do nothing with it.

Two short telephone-poles, lashed together, were floating near by. Roy leaped on them and found that they would carry him safely. With his pole he was able to shove them through the water and thrust aside obstructing pieces of wreckage. He worked his way clear of the mass and got into what had been a street running toward the bluffs. Now it was like a canal in Venice. The houses on either side stood deep in water. None had yet collapsed and the great mass of wreckage had largely been held back by the rows of houses still standing on the seaward side. Up this watery avenue Roy forced his craft as best he could. The turbulent waves tossed him about, the current continually bore him against the houses, and the wreckage impeded him. By the greatest exertion Roy overcame all obstacles and drove his little raft nearer and nearer his haven.

As he drew closer to the bluffs, the water became shallower. Presently it was no more than waist-deep. All about him people were dropping from their homes into the flood. A woman with a little child appeared at a window directly above Roy’s raft and called for help.

“Drop her,” shouted Roy.

The woman lifted the child through the window and dropped her. Roy caught the sobbing child and placed her on the raft at his feet. The woman crawled from the window and fell into Roy’s arms. He was knocked down, but he managed to hold the woman on the raft. She picked up her child. Roy looked for his pole. It had been washed away. He leaped into the water, which was no more than waist-deep, and tried to drag the raft toward shore. The waves battered and beat him. The raft was tossed about. But Roy clung to it and gradually dragged it into shallower water. Finally he put the baby on his shoulder, and leading the woman by the hand, waded to safety.

All about them scores of wet and terrified persons were similarly seeking safety. “Go to the court-house,” he heard some one say. He inquired the direction and made his way thither with the woman and the child. The streets in the business section were already under water. The court-house was waist-deep, but they gained it in safety. “Thank God!” exclaimed Roy.

In the building were scores and scores of terrified refugees, huddling together in white-faced fear. Nobody knew what might happen. For a moment Roy did not know what to do. He looked with a sick heart at the sad company about him. He could do nothing to help them. Then he thought of the white faces he had seen in the doomed houses past which he had floated. He knew what his duty was. He bent and kissed the child he had rescued. “Good luck!” he said to her, and turning away from this haven of safety, went out again into the flood.