As he came south along the little river, the land began to rise in swelling heights to right and left, and the level bottom-land became narrower and narrower. Presently the _Morning Press_ fliers found themselves almost surrounded by mountains. It was like flying through a break in the side of a bowl into the bowl itself. Ahead of them, behind them, and to right and left of them, mountains rose, steep, rugged, and menacing. And in the very centre of this bowl-like valley lay Northend. At the present moment the valley was in very truth a bowl, for it was fairly covered with water. From mountain to mountain the water reached, and what had been the city of Northend looked like a collection of tiny islets in the centre of the vast lake. Individual houses and blocks of buildings lifted their dark roofs above the turbid waters. “Makes you think of huckleberries floating in a bowl of milk,” Carl shouted to Jimmy. And that was what the scene did resemble. The huckleberries, of course, were houses. In the centre of the town the buildings rose in solid blocks, like squares of brown bread that had gotten in with the huckleberries. But in the residential districts the houses stood apart, well separated, and on the very outskirts of the town they were farther and farther apart. Isolated homes rose from the flood out in what must have been the suburban or rural regions. Nowhere within the limits of the city was there a foot of dry ground visible. “It’s terrible,” shouted Jimmy. Carl nodded his head. Jimmy made a complete circle around the little valley, at a good elevation. From that height he and Carl could see everything. Their vision ranged from mountain to mountain, unobstructed. Nowhere was there another plane. Nowhere was there evidence of activity, save in one or two places where small boats were being navigated from house to house. Jimmy was thrilled at the thought that he was the first outside correspondent actually to reach the scene. He resolved that he would also be the first to take to the outer world an eye-witness story of the disaster. He knew he must work fast to do it. Other newspaper men would soon be on his heels. They would be coming in droves. “Get my camera,” he shouted to Carl, “and take a snap or two of the scene. Get a picture that shows the whole valley under water, with Northend in the centre of it.” Carl could handle a camera, and leaning through an open window, he got several good pictures. The rising sun was shining down into the valley by this time, illuminating it well.