"Jimmie, what's the swash we hear?" I asked.
He got out of bed, limped over to the window, opened the blinds, looked
a minute and then yelled:
"Good Lord! the whole town is under water, and we are floating."
It needed but a glance to convince me that he spoke part truth. There we
were surrounded on all sides by water, but the house was still on its
foundation.
"Water, water, everywhere
Nor any drop to drink."
On account of the sandy nature of the soil on Galveston Island, most of
the houses were built up on piles, and the water was gently slopping all
over the first floor of our habitation. The streets were flowing waist
high, and filled with floating debris of all kinds;--beer kegs, boards,
doors, and tables _ad lib_. The wind soon began to quiet down, and when
our first fright was over we had a high old time swimming and splashing
around in the water. It's a great city that will bring salt water
bathing right up to the doors of its houses.
After a very skimpy breakfast, four of us made a raft, and paddled and
pushed it down to the office.
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