were waves as large as those that might have been encountered on some bay of the ocean; great, yellow muddy waves, that curled after the Clytie as though to overwhelm her. But the craft was in skillful hands.
"Look at that!" cried Blake, as they swept around a bend, and saw, in the flood, several small houses being carried down together. "Get that Joe!"
"I'm getting it!" shouted the young operator, as he turned the lens of the camera in that direction, and began grinding away at the handle.
"I'll put you over closer, so you can get a better view," called Mr. Ringold, as he headed the bow of the motor boat in the direction of the floating dwellings.
As he did so there came a shout from shore, and several men were see to put off in some small boats. They pointed at the houses, and seemed much excited.
"I wonder what that means?" spoke C. C., as he came from the enclosed cabin, out on the deck where Joe had the camera. "I wonder if they think they can haul those houses to shore?"
"It doesn't seem possible—with only their small boats," remarked Blake. "They may be able to anchor them, though, and save them when the waters go down."
