The Boy with the U. S. Weather Men Part 6

"It's the same way with the weather. We know well enough how to do the things that would enable us to prophesy a long time in advance what the weather is going to be, but the problem approaches impossibility because there are too many factors that enter into the calculation. We're learning all the time, but it's a big piece of work and needs big men to do it. That's why, Anton, I can't tell you why this particular district had more rain this year than it has had for several seasons past."

Anton, pegging away on his crutch beside the Forecaster, looked up at him with an added eagerness in his eyes.

"And yet all those things are going on, right where I can see them!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," the Weather Man answered. "Some men can explore distant countries, and we envy them; some men can explore the greatest and the smallest things in the world with marvellous scientific instruments and we envy them, too; but every day and all day, and every night and all night, we are surrounded by the World of the Weather, less explored, less known than even the most remote corner of the earth. Why, Anton, if you could simply follow all the various causes that brought about this flood that made you homeless, you would have a story of adventure that would make the most daring explorer green with envy."

"But you do predict floods and rains, Mr. Levin," Ross put in. "Father told me, a week ago, that warnings for this flood had been sent out by the Weather Bureau."

"Yes, indeed," the Weather Man answered. "I should say that weather warnings issued by the Bureau save half a billion dollars to the country every year and prevent the loss of hundreds of lives. All those are short-range predictions. Very few of them cover much more than a week in advance, except, perhaps, a West Indian Hurricane which has been reported from the Antilles, or a flood on the Mississippi which is caused by heavy rains in the upper reaches of the streams flowing into it."

"Well, that's prophesying, isn't it?"

"Yes, and no," was the reply. "It's predicting, and it's due to observation. If a storm is moving eastward, with a heavy rainfall, and we've had telegraphic dispatches from all the towns in the west through which it has pa.s.sed, it's not hard to figure the speed at which the storm is traveling, and it's a sure prediction to tell a city to the eastward of that storm that rain can be expected at about a certain date. Or, if there's a high flood wave at St. Louis, and we know the speed of the Mississippi current, we can notify Greenville, Vicksburg, and New Orleans at what time the trouble is likely to come to them. If no more rain is falling at Greenville and the river is going down there, we can notify Vicksburg that the flood danger is pa.s.sing away. That's the observational end of the work, and in that line, the Weather Bureau of the United States is the best in the world."

The weather expert was proceeding to explain in detail the manner of collecting these observations, when suddenly Anton clutched him by the arm.

"What's that, Mr. Levin?" he cried.

The Forecaster looked ahead, then glanced down at the boy with a smile.

"What does it look like?" he asked.

"Why," said Anton, "it looks like a circus tent; you know, the one that was here the week before last."

"It is the circus tent," the Forecaster replied. "When I found that there were a couple of thousand people to be fed and looked after, the only shelter I could think of, that was big enough, was the circus tent.

So, late last night, I sent a wagon up there, asking for the loan of the tent for a day or two. And what do you suppose the circus folk did?"

"Sent it?"

"They sent it, with two of their wagons, a lot of food, their cooking kit, and the two cooks who travel with the circus. What's more, Anton, you remember those two clowns in the show who were so funny?"

"You bet I do!" exclaimed the lad, his eyes shining.

"They volunteered to come down and help as waiters. They're doing it, too, and it's a right good thing, for every one around in the place is roaring with laughter half the time. Folks work a lot better when they're cheerful."

A perfect gale of merriment, which greeted the boys as they neared the tent, showed the truth of the Forecaster's statement. He had greatly understated the work of the circus. Nearly all the performers were there, busily helping the distressed.

"They're a right kindly folk, the circus people, as a rule," remarked the Forecaster.

"Are they all here?" queried Anton. "Goliath, the strong man, the Flying Squirrel Brothers, Androcles, the lion tamer, Princess Tiny and the rest?"

"Yes, most of them," the Forecaster answered. "Goliath is in charge of one of the gangs I've got at work on the river front, and the darkies are so proud of being under him that they're working like fury. The Flying Squirrel Brothers--cracker-jack mechanics, both of them--have been fixing up some tackle and machinery that we needed, but I think Androcles stayed back with his lions. I suppose he thought the lions wouldn't do us any good. But if you're not too hungry to wait just for a second--"

He paused.

"What?" queried Anton excitedly.

"Yes, there they are!" the Forecaster answered, gazing along the levee.

Both boys followed his glance.

Vast, bulky shadows stood outlined against the distant Arkansas sh.o.r.e and the clearing sky. Unreal they seemed, until it was evident that they were moving.

There, shuffling along with that heavy rolling gait which is unlike that of any other animal in the world, came two colossal elephants.

Anton shrieked with delight.

"Elephants! Real elephants!" he cried. "Oh, Mr. Levin, I haven't ever seen an elephant quite close."

He started off up the levee, but the Forecaster called him back.

"Have your breakfast first, Anton," he said; "you've got all day to look at the elephants. They're the best workers I've got. I'd like to have a gang of them at work on the levee all the time."

This sentiment was not shared by Rex. At the first sight of the huge creatures, La.s.sie had given a low growl. Rex stood silent, with a stillness that Ross knew to be ominous, and just as the Forecaster finished speaking, with an angry growl, he started off to do battle against the elephants. It was a sight to see him, with his hair bristling, rushing forward to dispute the pa.s.sage of these huge brutes who dared to approach the vicinity of La.s.sie and the puppies. Only the sharp commands of Ross availed to bring him back, and throughout breakfast he lay well in advance of the tent, watching, and growling loudly every time the elephants pa.s.sed, dragging the flat sleds loaded with sand bags to the cave-in a few hundred yards beyond.

"I've been wondering," began Anton, using the expression most often on his lips, "why there are so many floods on the Mississippi. Why is it?

Lots of rivers I know don't have these awful floods every year."

"I've wondered, too," said Ross.

The Weather Man looked at the two boys, then took a cigar out of his pocket.

"I can't stay away from the levee very long," he said, "but I need a cigar after breakfast, anyway, and I'll tell you why the Mississippi is one of the worst flood rivers in the world and why the safeguarding of the Mississippi is the biggest piece of work to be done in the United States. It's a bigger piece of work than the Panama Ca.n.a.l, and a more difficult piece of work. It means millions of dollars every year to the people of the United States."

"Why is it such a hard job?"

"The Mississippi River," the Forecaster began, "is two and a half thousand miles in length; the longest river in the world."

"Longer than the Amazon?" asked Anton.

"Yes, a great deal. Besides, it is navigable for nearly two thousand miles, clear from St. Paul, Minnesota, to the Gulf. It drains two-fifths of the area of the United States. To put it another way, all the rain and snow that falls between New York State and Montana sooner or later makes its way into the Mississippi River, except for the rain that is used up by plants and animals or that is evaporated before it reaches the river or that drains by underground seepage to the ocean. So you see what a vast amount of water it must carry. Now, boys," he continued, "what kind of banks has the river around here, rock or earth?"

"Mud!" answered Ross, tersely.

"Right," the Forecaster agreed, "and it is mud nearly all the way along.

But do you know what mud is?"

This was rather a poser, but finally Anton said slowly,

"It's a mixture of earth and water, isn't it?"

The Forecaster looked shrewdly at the boy.

"You've hit it just right," he said, "mud is earth or soil that has been washed down by the river. That's what makes the bottom of the river so irregular and why it's always shifting. You can see for yourselves, boys, that if the bottom of the Mississippi is just made of light mud, light enough to be carried down as muddy water for hundreds of miles, any little change in the current of the river will stir up that mud again and scoop out a hole. If it happens to be near a bank, the bank will be eaten away and, naturally, will cave right in."

"About how much mud does the Mississippi carry down, Mr. Levin?" Anton asked.

"In flood time, as much as a thousand tons a minute will be carried past here."