TO THE RESCUE
There was a gasp of horror from the boys as they saw the three forms
struggling in the water amid the debris of the shattered rowboat.
"They'll be drowned!" shouted Bob, in an agony of apprehension.
"If they can only keep afloat until the motor boat picks them up,"
ejaculated Joe.
But to the consternation of the boys they saw that the motor boat
occupants had no intention of going to the rescue. It was not that the men
on the boat were not aware of the damage they had done. The boys could see
the figures of two men looking backward from the stern towards the people
struggling in the waves. But there was no halting of the speed of the
craft and it kept on like an arrow, as though it were a criminal bent only
on getting away from the scene of his crime.
A cry broke from the boys when this conviction was forced upon them. They
clenched their fists and shook them toward the retreating craft, while
fierce exclamations broke from their lips.
But there was no time for indulging in vain objurgations. Bob as usual
took the lead.
"Come along, fellows!" he shouted, as he set off like a deer towards a
rowboat that was pulled up on the beach. "We've got to save those people,
and every second counts. Hustle's the word!"
His companions were close on his heels, and without loss of time they had
reached the boat. In it were two pairs of oars. They pushed the boat down
the shelving beach into the surf and jumped aboard.
"Each one take an oar," commanded Bob. "Now pull, fellows, with all your
strength. Don't mind about the steering. I'll tend to that. Pull! Pull!"
They did not need any urging, and the boat, yielding to the impetus of
four pairs of arms, made rapid headway and had soon got beyond the
breakers. But the tide was setting toward the shore and the waves were
running high, while the wind was strong and against them. Filled with
anxiety as they were, it seemed to them that the boat was only creeping,
though they were putting their arms and their backs into the work and
pulling with every ounce of strength that they possessed.
Bob used his oar both for pulling and steering, and ever and again cast a
glance behind him to make sure of his course. He could see that the two
men had caught hold of a fragment of the boat and were trying to keep
afloat. The girl seemed to have fainted and was supported by the arm of
one of the men. As the waves rolled toward them, they tried to rise with
them, but often they were entirely submerged, and there was danger that at
any moment their hold might be torn from the slight fragment that alone
kept them afloat.
The need for haste was urgent, and Bob urged his comrades on with frantic
adjurations.
"Pull harder," he cried, himself setting the example. "Harder yet. Put all
you've got into each stroke. Harder! Harder!"
It seemed as though their hearts were being pulled out of their bodies,
but they summoned up all their strength for a final spurt that carried
them into the floating debris of the boat.
"Easy now," cried Bob, as he shipped his oar. "You, Herb and Jimmy, just
row enough to keep her head on. Joe, give me a hand."
He reached out and caught the arm of the lad who was supporting the girl.
While Bob held him fast, Joe reached over, took his helpless burden from
his arms, and lifted her into the boat. That done, they reached over and
helped the nearly exhausted youths into the boat with what aid they
themselves were able to render. They were too used up to talk, but their
eyes showed their gratitude.
"Well, that's that!" exclaimed Bob, heaving a sigh of heartfelt relief, as
he again took up his oar. "Now, fellows, it's us for the shore as soon as
we can get there. These people are all in and need first aid, especially
the girl. Let's go."
With tired arms and bodies but vastly lighter hearts, they bent to the
oars.
And while they are speeding over the waves with their burden, it may be
well, for the benefit of those who have not read the previous volumes of
this series, to tell who the radio boys were and what had been their
adventures up to the time this story opens.
Bob Layton was the son of a prosperous chemist living in the town of
Clintonia, a thriving community of about ten thousand population, situated
on the Shagary River in an Eastern state, about seventy-five miles from
New York. Bob had been born and brought up there, and was a general
favorite with the people of the town, especially the boys of his own age,
because of his sunny nature and frank, straightforward character. He was a
natural leader in all wholesome sports and a crack player on the school
baseball and football teams.
His special chum was Joe Atwood, a boy of about his own age and the son of
a leading doctor of the town. While both were tall, Joe was of a fair
complexion while Bob was dark, and the dissimilarity extended to other
things than mere appearance. Joe was impulsive and quick-tempered, and apt
to act on the spur of the moment, while Bob, although never shirking
trouble or a fight if it came his way, was more self-controlled. But their
points of likeness were more numerous than their points of difference, and
they were the warmest of friends. Where one was to be found the other was
usually not far off.
Closely associated with them were Herb Fennington and Jimmy Plummer,
slightly younger but nearly enough of an age to be good comrades. Jimmy
was round and fat and fond of good living, a trait which had earned him
the nickname of "Doughnuts." Herb was rather easy-going and fond of
telling jokes, of which he always had a stock in store.
In one way or another the four friends frequently came into conflict with
Buck Looker, the bully of the town, and his two boon companions, Carl Lutz
and Terry Mooney, who were of the same stripe, though they deferred to
Buck as their leader.
Ever since the wonderful new science of radio had come into such
worldwide prominence, Bob and his friends had been intensely interested in
it. That interest had been fostered by the stimulating advice and
information given them by Dr. Amory Dale, the pastor of the old First
Church of Clintonia. How they had made their own receiving sets in
competition for the prize offered by the member of Congress for their
district; the difficulties they surmounted and the triumphs they achieved;
how Buck and his gang sought to wreck and steal their sets and the
thrashing Buck received in consequence; how by the agency of the radio
they were able to detect a swindler, one, Dan Cassey, and force him to
make restitution to Nellie Berwick, an orphan girl he had tried to cheat;
all this and many more exciting adventures are told in the first book of
this series, entitled: "The Radio Boys' First Wireless; Or, Winning the
Ferberton Prize."
The winning of the prizes, the first by Bob and the second by Joe, with
honorable mention for Jimmy, was a spur to fresh efforts in mastering the
wonders of radio. This they carried out at Ocean Point, a seashore resort,
at which they spent their vacation. How they advanced to the use of the
vacuum tube receiving set from their first crystal set; their experiences
in the wireless room of a seashore station; their narrow escape from death
on the night of a roaring gale; how, under the stress of need, they were
able to send a message to the ship on which relatives and friends were
voyaging and bring other ships to their aid; how they tracked down and
captured the rascal Cassey after he had assaulted and robbed their friend
Brandon Harvey, the wireless operator; these things are narrated in the
second volume of this series entitled: "The Radio Boys at Ocean Point; Or,
The Message That Saved the Ship."
With the radio boys pulling hard at the oars, it was only a matter of a
few minutes before they had made their way through the breakers and
reached the shore. There they jumped out and shoved the rowboat up on the
beach.
The youths whom they had rescued and who seemed only little older than
themselves had by this time partially recovered from their exhaustion and
were able to get out themselves, although they were very shaky on their
legs. The girl had regained consciousness, but was not able to walk, and
the boys debated just what they should do.
Quite a crowd that had watched the rescue from the beach were on hand to
greet and congratulate them and offers of help were plentiful. But Dr.
Atwood, Joe's father, who had taken a day off from his extensive practice
to spend it with his family at the Point, solved the problem.
"Bring the girl up to my cottage," he directed. "I'll give her the
necessary treatment and then Mrs. Atwood can take charge of her until
she's sufficiently recovered to be taken home. I'll give you boys
something too that will counteract the effects of the shock and strain
you've been under, and you'll be all right in a little while."
The boys picked up the girl and carried her to the Atwood cottage that was
only a little distance away. Rose Atwood together with Agnes and Amy
Fennington, who had come over and were all interest and attention,
recognized her as Mary Rockwell, a girl whom they had met at the dance
which the radio boys had given, getting the music over the radio set from
a broadcasting station. Together with Mrs. Atwood, they gave her all
possible care after the doctor had given her a sedative, and word was sent
over to her people assuring them of her safety.
In the meanwhile the rescued lads, after they had been looked over by the
doctor and given a slight stimulant, had been borne off bodily by Bob and
the other radio boys to the cottage of Bob's parents, where they sat on
the veranda while supper was being prepared, for Bob had given them a
cordial invitation to take supper and spend the evening with them.
As they were about the size of Bob and Joe, the latter had furnished them
with extra suits of their own clothes while their drenched garments were
taken in charge by Mrs. Layton to be dried and pressed.
And now for the first time the new acquaintances were able to take a good
look at each other. What they saw pleased them mutually.
One of the boys was slender and agile, with frank, honest eyes and a
friendly smile that was almost constantly in evidence. His hair was brown
and wavy and his complexion naturally fair, though it was at the moment
tanned by the sun and sea air. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh
on his body, and he gave the impression of being a trained athlete.
The other had a humorous face that betrayed Irish ancestry, which was
emphasized by the merest touch of a brogue when he talked. His hair was
red and his face freckled, and there was something about him that was
extremely likable and made the boys warm to him at once.
"We haven't had a chance to learn each other's names yet," said Bob, with
a smile, as the party settled comfortably into the veranda seats. "And
that's not surprising either," he added, "for we've been pretty busy since
the first moment we met. This is the first chance we've had to draw our
breaths. My name is Bob Layton, and these pals of mine are Joe Atwood,
Herb Fennington and Jimmy Plummer, the latter the greatest doughnut eater
in captivity."
"And our handles are Larry Bartlett and Tim Barcommon," said the taller of
the two newcomers, as they laughingly acknowledged the introductions. "And
before we do anything else we want to tell you fellows how grateful we are
for the way you came to our help. It would have been all up for us if you
hadn't."
"Yes," chimed in Tim, "we'll never forget it as long as we live. It was a
mighty plucky thing for you fellows to pull out in the sea that was
running. The sight of you coming was the only thing that helped me to hold
on. I was just about all in when you reached us. You certainly sent that
old boat spinning along."
"Oh, that was nothing," disclaimed Bob. "We just happened to be on the
spot. Any one else would have done the same thing."
"But you notice nobody else did do it," replied Larry. "There were lots of
other people on the beach that saw the accident, but you were the only
ones that did the hustling. It was a case of quick thinking as well as
plucky acting, and we owe our lives to you. I only hope that some time
we'll be able to do something that will show you how we appreciate it."
"What gets me," put in Joe, "was the heartless way those fellows in the
motor boat acted. They were simply brutes. They ought to have their necks
wrung."
"Yes," said Herb. "There was no excuse for their running you down in the
first place. But after they'd done it, the least they could have done was
to turn their boat around and pick you up. We took it for granted that
that was what they would do, and we couldn't believe our eyes when we saw
them keep on. Those fellows are nothing less than murderers."
"I guess you're about right," replied Larry. "We counted, too, on their
picking us up, and our only thought was to hold on to any floating thing
we could grab until they could get to us. And when we saw that they
weren't going to, we just about gave up hope. Both Tim and I are pretty
good swimmers, and if we'd been alone might have reached the shore. But
there was the girl, and with the water as rough as it was we had a pretty
slim chance of bringing her in, so it was a case of living or dying
together. And it would have been dying sure enough, if you hadn't happened
to be on the beach this afternoon.
"It would have been especially hard," he continued, "if the girl had been
drowned when she was out on our invitation and under our protection. As
for ourselves, it would not have mattered so much. She is an awfully nice
girl, and her family and mine have been acquainted for years. My mother
and hers used to go to school together. I hadn't any idea she was down
here when I decided to spend a couple of weeks at Ocean Point, but you can
imagine how surprised and delighted I was to find that she and her folks
were stopping at the same hotel I had picked out. She was a little afraid
of the water, but yielded when we urged her to come out for a row, and we
were all having a dandy time until that motor boat come along and spoiled
everything."
"And think of what the world would have lost if we'd been among the
missing," said Tim, with a grin. "No more exhibitions of the Canary Bird
Snake, otherwise known as Larry Bartlett."
"Or of the famous buck wing and clog dancer, otherwise known as Tim
Barcommon," laughed Larry.
The radio boys looked at each other in some perplexity.
"I don't quite get you," said Bob.