The Ohio, beaten back by the lashed and maddened Mississippi, was leaping in great furious waves, high and wild, as the ocean’s in a tempest.  These monstrous, foaming billows were springing far up the shores on both sides of the river, and devouring vast stretches of land covered with gigantic trees.  The giants of the forest fell, groaning, into the boiling, swirling flood which leapt to catch them and swallowed them up with a hideous, hissing noise.  Sunken trees which had lain for ages on the bottom of the river rose above the water like ghosts rising to meet the newly slain.

“The boat,” moaned Ruth.  “Uncle Philip’s boat, and the sick man!”

Every eye turned in the direction of the island.  No one spoke after that first look.  None marvelled to see that the boat was missing; nothing afloat could live in that seething maelstrom, thickened with melted earth and tangled with fallen trees.  The overwhelming thing which their faculties could not grasp was the fact that the island itself was gone.  They could only stand staring, expecting to see it between the mountainous waves, utterly unable to believe the truth, that it had sunk out of sight and was resting on the bottom of the river.  And as they were thus still searching the wild, dark flood with incredulous eyes, they suddenly saw a small row-boat in the middle of the stream.  It darted down a towering wave and flew up the next, and came flying on like some wild, winged thing, toward the Kentucky shore.  Another and a wilder wave caught it, lifted it aloft, and tossed it still nearer the land.  It was not far away now, and there came a sudden lightening of the gloom, so that they could see two men in the little boat.

“They can never live to reach the shore!” cried the doctor.

“As God wills,” said the priest.

Instinctively every eye but the girl’s was scanning the shore, trying to find something that would float, something that might help to save the men in the boat.  But there was nothing in sight; the fierce waves had swallowed everything, and the helpless people on the bank could only turn again to watch the little boat.  Ruth’s gaze had never wandered from it, and she still watched it flying from one wave to another, gazing as intently as she could through the tears that rained over her pale cheeks.  She saw it go up a gigantic wave with a flying leap and dart down again, and then it was lost to sight so long that they thought it was gone.  But at last it came up near the shore, overturned, and with only one man clinging to it.  He was on the far side of the frail shell, so that they could not see him distinctly, although he was not far from the shore and there was more light.  And then a swirl of the wild waters brought him to the nearer side, and raised him higher.

“It’s an old man!” sobbed Ruth.  “His head is white.  Oh!  Oh!  It’s uncle Philip!  It’s uncle Philip!  He has been to the island.  Save him, Paul!”