"My dear child, when on my travels over the great lakes of America, I frequently saw terrible inundations. I have helped the Indians in several salvages and I learned then that a little precaution often spares one many perils. So I have prepared three sets of tholes, for it is probable we may break some, and as the sailor's proverb says: 'A broken thole, a dead oar.'" "It is true that when an oar lacks a solid support, it becomes almost useless." "And what would become of us in the middle of the gulf with one oar? We should be lost." "That is true, my friend." "Now we must prepare to row vigorously, for we shall encounter trees, and steep banks in roads and other obstructions which may give a violent jolt to our oars and perhaps break them. Have you no spare oars?" "There is another one at the house." "We will carry it with us, because, if we should lack an oar, the rescue of these poor people would become impossible and our loss certain. You row well, do you?" "Yes, my friend, one of my greatest pleasures was to row mother across the pond." "You will be at home with the oars then; I will sound the water and direct the boat by means of a boat-hook. I explain to you now my child, every essential point, as I shall not have time to address a word to you, when we are on the water. Do not let your oars drag. After each stroke of the oar, lift them horizontally; they might become entangled or break on some obstacle between wind and water, which renders navigation so dangerous on these submerged lands." "I will forget nothing, my friend; make yourself easy," replied Frederick, to whom the coolness and experience of David gave unlimited courage. When the cart reached the house, David and Frederick met a great number of peasants weeping bitterly, and driving before them all kinds of animals. Some were walking by the side of wagons laden with furniture piled pell-mell, kitchen utensils, mattresses, clothing, barrels, sacks of grain, all snatched in haste from the devouring waves of the overflow. Some women carried nursing children, others had little boys and girls on their backs, while the men were trying to guide the frightened beasts. "Does the water continue to rise, my poor people?" asked David, without stopping, and walking along by their side. "Alas, monsieur, it is still rising; the bridge of Blémur has been carried off by the waves," said one. "There was already four feet of water in the village when we left it," said another. "The great floats of wood in the basin of St. Pierre have been swept into the current of the valley," said a third. "They came down like a thunderbolt, struck two large boats manned with sailors coming to aid the people, and capsized them." "All those brave men were drowned," said another, "for the Loire at its highest water is not half as rapid as the current of the overflow."