eeded in persuading a number of brave and stout-hearted men, who had
constructed a raft and were about to start on an extended search for the
lost who are known to be strewn all along this fated stream, to take me
with them.

The river is still very high, and while the current is not remarkably
swift, the still flowing debris made the expedition one of peril.
Between the starting point and Nineveh several bodies were recovered.
They were mostly imbedded in the sand close to the shore, which had to
be hugged for safety all the way. Indeed the greater part of the trip
was made on foot, the raft being towed along from the water's edge by
the tireless rescuers.

Just above Sang Hollow the party stopped to assist a little knot of men
who were engaged in searching amid the ruins of a hut which lay wedged
between a mass of trees on the higher ground. A man's hat and coat were
fished out, but there was no trace of the human being to whom they once
belonged. Perhaps he is alive; perhaps his remains are among the
hundreds of unidentified dead, and perhaps he sleeps beneath the waters
between here and the gulf. Who can tell?

Died in Harness.

A little farther down we came across two horses and a wagon lying in the
middle of the river. The dumb animals had literally died in harness. Of
their driver nothing is known. At this point an old wooden rocker was
fished out of the water and taken on shore.

Here three women were working in the ruins of what had once been their
happy home. When one of them spied the chair it brought back to her a
wealth of memory and for the first time, probably, since the flood
occurred she gave way to a flood of tears, tears as welcome as sunshine
from heaven, for they opened up her whole soul and allowed pent-up
grief within to flow freely out and away.

One Touch of Nature.

"Where in the name of God," she sobbed, "did you get that chair? It was
mine--no, I don't want it. Keep it and find for me, if you can, my
album; in it are the faces of my dead husband and little girl." When the
rough men who have worked days in the valley of death turned away from
this scene there was not a dry eye in the crowd. One touch of nature,
and the thought of little ones at home, welded them in heart and
sympathy to this Niobe of the valley.

At Sang Hollow we came up with a train-load of refugees en route for
Pittsburgh. As I entered the car I was struck by two things. The first
was an old man, whose silvere