BOB MAKES ANOTHER RESCUE
As Hal delivered this message, Captain Joe explained his plans. The
shallow hold of the _Three Sisters_ was crowded with freight. Her
deck was already swept by the fast rising waves. A night’s rest was
hardly possible on the plunging craft. Therefore, all were ordered
ashore――including Jerry.
Skipper Romano was to remain aboard to see that no harm came to his
vessel. The schooner, unless the wind settled in the north, was in no
real danger, although, to Bob, the pitching and tossing craft seemed
already in peril. The near by sand spit――almost an island――could not be
seen in the darkness, but the gulf breakers pounding on its outer edge,
a half mile away, told that the sea was piling up outside.
“It really isn’t much of a blow in here,” explained Tom, “but this
lowah portion of the bay is crooked and shallow. An’ as theah isn’t
even a moon, it’s bettah to wait fo’ daylight. It’s a good thing we got
in heah when we did――she’s a goin’ some outside.”
Getting ashore in the dingy was not easy work. Jerry and Hal took
charge of the oars, and, bumping and scraping against the schooner
and shipping more or less water, three trips were made to the beach.
The place was not unknown to Captain Joe; fishermen frequently camped
there, and a rough pile pier reached a few yards into the water.
On this, Bob, Tom, the tent, some blankets and a lantern were
eventually unloaded. The spice of danger set Bob’s nerves tingling.
As he and Tom struggled shoreward with the tent canvas and poles,
fighting the wind and the stinging spray, Bob was ready to pat himself
on the back. To him, it was the finest sort of a beginning for their
adventure. He even volunteered to take Jerry’s place in the boat. But
Jerry, lazy and untruthful as he might be, knew his business at an oar
or with a sail.
“Lucky it hasn’t rained yet,” exclaimed Tom. “We’ve got plenty of dry
fiah wood. We’ll start a fiah――it’ll help us to set up the tent. Don’t
get wet stuff,” he added, as Bob started one way and he the other along
the shore. Bob hurried west toward the end of the spit around which
the schooner had just made its way to its refuge. He could hear the
rushing waves tumbling in through the pass. Wondering how far it was
to the opening he ran swiftly forward a few hundred yards.
When the open beach had almost disappeared beneath the rising, foam
laden waves, he knew he had partly rounded the point. But it was too
dark to examine the lay of the land or the angrier growing water
beyond, and he was about to turn to begin his wood collecting when he
was sure he saw a moving star.
He stopped and then he knew what he was watching was a moving light.
It rose and fell as if it might be on a boat. He forgot the wood and
made his way forward again. It was certainly a light. Watching it
intently for some minutes, Bob saw that it was moving toward the beach.
At times, it disappeared beneath the crest of the waves and then rose
trembling as if mounting high on the top of an incoming roller.
“It’s a boat,” said Bob to himself, “and it must be a small one. A
light on a big boat wouldn’t disappear like that.”
He was about to rush back to summon his companions when he suddenly
realized that the boat was in deadly peril. It was headed directly for
the beach and coming toward him like the wind. At the same moment, a
familiar sound reached his ears――the “chug,” “chug,” of a gasoline
engine.
“It’s a power boat,” gasped Bob, “and it’s goin’ to be on the beach in
about two minutes. If there are any persons in it, maybe I can help
them.”
He yelled several times for Tom Allen, and at last thought he heard an
answering signal. Then he attempted to warn the storm-bound craft, but
the increasing wind only shot his words back. Bob forgot his numb hands
and wet clothes, and, when the trembling light rose almost over the
beach breakers, he rushed forward, at first knee and then waist deep,
into the shattered waves, and prepared to render what assistance he
could.
He was none too soon. Almost immediately, the scudding light sprang
up just before him. But, as Bob tried to calculate its distance from
him, a swift unbroken wave struck the boy on the breast and swept
him shoreward. Thrown from his feet, he fell flat in a foot or more
of water. As he struggled to recover himself, there was a crash just
behind him.
As Bob gave an alarmed glance over his shoulder, a big, white object
shot by him and there was another crash. The boat bearing the light
had twice struck the beach and was already stranded in the shallow
water. With a yell, the solitary occupant of the unfortunate craft
sprang into the receding wash of water and caught the side of the
beached craft. Before another wave could engulf the boat, Bob had
grasped the other side of the long, white object.
Without speaking to each other, but impelled by the same purpose, when
the next roller came thundering beachward, Bob and the unknown boatman
threw themselves against the craft and, on the roll of surge, shot the
beached boat high up on the shore. Another effort and the boat was
beyond the reach of the water.
Before he spoke, the rescued man reached into the boat and shut off
the engine. In the yellow glare of a smoking lantern, which still
flickered, suspended from a stub of a jack staff, Bob caught sight of
the rescued boatman’s face. It was Mac Gregory, and the saved craft was
the old life saving boat, the _Escambia_.
“On your way to the camp?” said Bob at once, as Mac looked up and the
eyes of the two boys met.
The first answer was an oath. But, to tell the truth, it carried more
gratitude than resentment. Then the astounded and trembling Mac added:
“How’d you come here? Ain’t beached are you?”
“Been waitin’ for you,” answered Bob, with self possession. “I saw you
comin’, and I reckoned you were off your course. No, we ain’t beached.
We are at anchor, waitin’ for better weather.”
“I guess you helped save the _Escambia_,” conceded Mac. “I thought I
was on the bay. I reckon I couldn’t a got her out alone――much obliged,”
he added hastily.
“Then you’ll still have a chance to bust up the club,” said Bob. “I
suppose you are on your way to the camp?”
“You kids didn’t give me no square deal,” answered Mac resentfully.
“So you’re goin’ to beat up Jerry Blossom because you’re sore at us?”
went on Bob. “You seem to count a good deal on your muscle.”
“Talk’s cheap,” muttered Mac, as he made perfunctory efforts to
straighten out the disordered contents of the boat, and then untied
his lantern. “But what you goin’ to do ef ye ain’t no money and no
eddication? I ain’t never got nothin’ yit in my life ’thouten I fit
fur it. Where’s the boys?” he concluded belligerently.
“We’re goin’ into camp up the beach,” answered Bob, who was not unmoved
by Mac’s hard words. “They’ll take you in for the night, since you’re
shipwrecked. But I’ll tell you somethin’, Mac,” he added, his teeth
chattering, “you’ve made a mighty poor beginnin’ toward bustin’ up our
club. Come on.” And he started on a run back to the camp. Within a
short distance, the two boys ran into Tom and Hal.
The surprise of the other boys can be imagined. Halting in the smoke of
the flying spray, the story of the rescue was soon told. Mrs. Allen’s
orders were forgotten. A truce was entered into for the night, and
the “expelled” member was offered shelter. There was only one return
he could make. The stubborn spirit of the hitherto bully was humbled.
Hugging his dim lantern under one arm, he reached out a hand to Bob.
“Say, Kid,” he began nervously, “I ain’t askin’ fur no favors from you
all――I reckon I ain’t worth ’sociatin’ with――that’s all right,” and
his hard voice choked a little. “I’ll tell the truth. I was on my way
to burn up the camp. But I’ve had enough. I’m goin’ back. You kids kin
have the boat, ef she ain’t split up.”
Bob took Mac’s hand, equally embarrassed.
“I reckon Balfour has saved me twict frum droundin’, an’ I can’t say no
more’n ’at I hope I kin do him a turn sometime. Leastways, I’m a goin’
back to town when the blow’s over,” continued Mac.
“Mac,” answered Bob at once, “just forget it. I guess we got blankets
enough for all to-night.”
“Fill your arms with wood,” exclaimed Tom, eager to relieve the
situation. “Jerry’s makin’ a fire.”
“I got the coffee pot an’ some bread and bacon,” added Hal quickly.
“We’ll have some supper if the wind drops enough.”
But the wind did not drop. Breasting its sweep, the boys plodded back
to where the colored boy had nursed a fire into a blaze. For some
minutes, Jerry did not notice the presence of Gregory. When the fire
at last spread into a circle of light and the busy “assistant chef”
suddenly detected Mac’s presence, he let out a yell and darted away
into the night. There was a concerted attempt to stop the alarmed
Jerry, but it seemed only to frighten him more, and, catching up the
lantern, Tom ran after the fugitive.
It was Jerry’s flight and Tom’s pursuit that upset the night’s program,
and, in the end, all the plans of the Anclote Club; for, while the
three remaining boys were wrestling with the tent, Tom’s voice was soon
heard in the distance calling frantically to the other boys. Then he
broke into the camp, out of breath, with the reassured Jerry at his
heels.
“There’s a boat off the pass,” panted Tom. “She’s showin’ a flare.
She’s drivin’ on the beach. Somethin’s wrong with her.”
Running a few hundred yards to the higher part of the sand spit, the
four boys could easily make out the distress signal.
“Ain’t no passenger steamer,” exclaimed Mac. “But she sure wants help.
She’s disabled an’ callin’ loud,” he added, as a tongue of fire swept
skyward. “They’re burnin’ pitch or oil.”
“Come on,” ordered Tom, turning and racing back toward the beach and
camp fire. “Bob,” he asked, as they hurried along, “ever pull an oar?”
“No, but I can,” answered Bob stoutly.
“You’ll have to,” answered Tom, who seemed at once by common consent to
take command. “Mac,” he yelled, “jump into the dingy and bring Captain
Joe ashore. We’ll be waitin’ for you at the boat. Go along, Jerry,”
added Tom.
Without question, the recently disgraced Mac and the frightened Jerry
sprang into the dingy and the other boys shoved it off. Then, Mac’s
lantern in hand, Tom, Hal and Bob set off at full speed along the beach
toward the stranded life boat.
“You got the oars?” exclaimed Tom suddenly, turning and facing the
dark, storm-tossed bay in the direction the dingy had disappeared.
“Under the seats,” came the faint answer.
“We’re all right,” announced Tom, breathing hard, for the young
southerner seemed to have paused not a moment since he sighted the
distress signal. “With Captain Joe at the steerin’ oar, Mac at the
engine, and the rest of us at the oars, I ain’t afraid but what the
_Escambia_ could cross the gulf.”
Bob’s heart leaped. In his wildest dreams of adventure, he had never
pictured himself tugging at the oar of a life boat fighting a storm at
sea.
“I hope the boat’s all right,” he heard Hal say. “Maybe she’s sprung a
leak.”
“The _Escambia_ was built for blows like this,” answered Tom. “If she’s
out of commission, we’ll have to try the schoonah.”
But the life boat was not damaged. While the three boys waited for
Captain Joe and Mac and Jerry, Tom found two small round logs. Then he
and Hal boarded the boat and examined the engine. The propeller was
high on the stern post and protected against bayou and river weeds with
a steel guard.
Before trying the engine, the screw was also examined. Each blade was
intact. When a test was given the motor and the ten-horsepower engine
started up, there were new expressions of relief. But how the wind did
blow! When Bob and Mac left the boat, it was high and dry. Now the
rising water was already slapping at the boat’s keel. Bob reported each
new flare of the distress signal.
“It’s gettin’ closer,” he called out. “But she ain’t headed for the
pass.”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Hal. “She’s sure off her course, and she’ll
be on the beach in rag time, if somethin’ don’t stop her.”
“That’s us,” answered Tom. “Or if we can’t, we’ll take off whoever’s a
feedin’ that flare.”
There was a hasty conference with Captain Joe, who with Mac and Jerry
now reached the scene. He carried a bright ship’s lantern, and at once
took charge. He began to talk about their mothers’ instructions to him,
but when Tom told him to stand aside if he wouldn’t lead in the rescue,
he sprang into the boat.
Mac carried a coil of rope. Captain Joe passed this along both sides of
the _Escambia_, looping it over the gunwales between seats, and then
made the ends fast at the bow and stern. Four long, stout oars were
already in place, and a fifth was in Captain Joe’s hand astern.
Then, by the light of Captain Joe’s lantern, and the aid of the logs
found by Tom, the heavy _Escambia_ was slid part way down the beach
and, with the united efforts of the six persons, turned bow on to the
tumbling water. She was pounding with each new breaker, and as one of
these lifted her bow, the two logs were shoved under her keel.
Quick commands followed. The ship’s lantern was dropped in the stern
out of the steersman’s sight; Mac scrambled to his place just in front
of Captain Joe astern, ready to start the engine, and Tom and Hal took
the seat amidships, each with an oar. Jerry Blossom and Bob stood ready
to shove off.
“You got hol’ de rope?” sang out Captain Joe.
“All ready here,” called back Bob.
“Got de line, sah,” answered the more nautical Jerry.
“Hang on all an’ shove away,” came the instant order.
With a panting thrust, the _Escambia_ moved slowly forward. Then,
caught on a breaker, it rose in the air.
“Hang on an’ shove away,” called out the steersman again.
One more lunge, and the boat smashed into a wave. The wave buried Bob
and Jerry to their waists, and then Tom and Hal caught the water with
a desperate sweep of their oars. The _Escambia_ broke through another
crest, touched the beach once more and then bounded into deep water.
Jerry and Bob were swept from their feet.
With a dozen long sweeps of the oars, the life boat rose and fell,
holding her own against the sea, and then came the welcome “chug,”
“chug,” of the motor, and the propeller took hold.
“Pull in the line men,” shouted Captain Joe. As the _Escambia_ slowly
forged seaward, Tom and Hal shipped their oars, and, bracing themselves
against the wind and spray, laboriously drew Bob and Jerry into the
boat.