HARD WORK
“She’s on fire!” cried Sam.
“A goner!” echoed Harry.
“Steady all!” exclaimed Tom, in as calm a tone as he could command at
that critical time. “Steady all! And give way--hard!”
They all knew what he meant. That they were to row to the rescue of
those in the motor boat, where something had exploded--just what,
whether merely a carburetor, filled with gasoline, or the main tank,
could not be ascertained. Certain it was that Clarence and those other
cadets seemed to be in great danger. They were standing up in the bow
of the craft now, as far away from the smoke and, presumably, the
flames, as they could get, and were shouting and waving their arms.
“Row hard!” ordered Tom, and he seemed, naturally, to take command.
They had a six-oared barge, and Tom, as it happened, was at the stern,
in charge of the tiller lines when the explosion occurred. He retained
his place, and headed the craft directly for the one now enshrouded in
smoke.
“Row hard, boys!” he cried.
“That’s the idea!” said Sam, in jerky tones, as he bent his back to
the oars. Each cadet had two of the light cedar blades. They had been
rowing slowly, but they now worked up the pace as though training for a
championship.
The result was that the craft fairly shot through the water, rough as
it was. Tom and his chums, in their barge, were nearer than any other
boats to the burning one.
“Do they see us coming?” asked Sam, whose back, as were those of Harry
and Chad, was toward the motor boat.
“They seem to be too excited to notice what’s going on,” replied Tom,
as he shifted the course a trifle. “But we’ll get there in time--I
hope.”
He added the last words in a low tone, for, even as he spoke, there
sounded another dull and more muffled, explosion from the motor boat,
and a larger pall of smoke rolled up.
“They’re going to jump,” cried Sam, who, in the bow, gave a hasty look
over his shoulder.
“Wait!” yelled Tom, seeing the evident intention of Clarence. He was
poised on the gunwhale of the burning boat ready to dive, but the
cadets seemed to be trying to put out the fire.
“We’ll be with you in a minute!” Tom added.
This time his voice carried, and that he was heard was evident, as some
of the cadets waved their hands to him. One of them was seen to grasp
Clarence.
“There’s time enough yet not to jump, though maybe it would be safer,”
said Harry. “They can all swim I guess.”
Swimming was an accomplishment insisted on at West Point, as was
dancing, and it was not to be doubted that the cadets were adepts at
it. As for Clarence, Tom knew the youth was quite at home in the water.
So aside from the chance that some of them might be taken with a cramp,
or weighted down with water-soaked clothing, there was really no
particular danger in jumping overboard.
There was one chance, though, that in leaping out suddenly they might
capsize the motor boat, and if water entered the cockpit, it would
spread the burning gasoline. That is the risk of bringing water in
contact with a gasoline fire. It must never be used; sand or some
proper chemical being called for in that emergency.
“Give way--a little more!” Tom called. He was not at all selfish in
this. Had he been at the oars, and one of his companions at the tiller
lines, he would have pulled with all his strength. The proper directing
of the craft and the urging of it forward are equally important.
“Way she is!” panted Sam.
“Watch yourselves now,” Tom cautioned them, as they neared the burning
craft. “I’m going to put us around so the smoke will blow away from us.
We’ll take ’em all in our boat if they can’t put out the fire.”
“I guess we can hold ’em,” said Chad. “We’ll probably have to take ’em
anyhow, for even if they douse the blaze the boat will be stalled.”
“Steady now!” called Tom. He sent the rowboat close to the bow of the
motor craft, in such a position that the smoke would be blown away from
the rescuing party.
“What’s the trouble?” called Tom, as some of the other cadets put out
their hands to grasp the gunwhale of the rowboat.
“Explosion--carburetor,” was the short answer of one of the cadets. At
last the time-honored rule of an upper classman’s not speaking to a
cadet, outside of the Academy grounds, had been broken. But there was
good excuse for it.
“Hurry up! Get me aboard! I don’t want to be burned!” cried Clarence,
and brushing aside some of the cadets he had invited to ride in his
motor boat, he fairly jumped into the rowing craft.
“Easy there!” was Tom’s caution, as the barge rocked and swayed under
the impact.
“The cad!” murmured one of the upper classmen under his breath, as he
shot a vindictive look at Clarence. The latter had saved himself, at
any rate. He was not a very gallant host, to say the least.
“Let the boat go, fellows!” he called. “Save yourselves!”
“Can’t you put out the fire?” asked Tom.
“We used up all the chemical extinguisher there was on board,”
explained one of the cadets. “I guess she’ll have to burn.”
The gasoline was burning and flickering under and about the flooded
carburetor. At any moment it might run along the copper supply pipe, or
melt it. The tank would then explode.
“Guess we can’t do anything more, fellows,” said one of the cadets,
regretfully enough, for the motor boat was a fine craft.
“No, get aboard,” Tom said. “If we only had some sand we might put it
out.”
Clarence sat huddled up in the rowboat, a picture of varying emotions.
He did not look at Tom.
By this time, however, several other boats on the river had come up,
some of them being motor craft. One was well supplied with chemical
extinguishers, and, at considerable risk, the men aboard it began to
fight the fire in Clarence’s boat.
Tom, his chums, and the other cadets helped, but Clarence himself
remained as far away from danger as he could.
Finally the fire was put out, without great damage having been done,
though the burned boat was unable to run under its own power.
“Will you let us have the honor of putting you ashore?” asked Tom,
of the cadet who seemed to be the leader of the little party with
Clarence, “or do you--”
“Thanks very much, old man. If you’ll row us over to the Point we’ll
appreciate it. It’s about time we reported back. What do you want done
with this boat of yours, anyhow, Hawkesbury?” he asked of Clarence, a
bit sharply.
“Oh, I don’t care,” was the sullen answer.
“This gentleman says he’ll tow it to a repair dock if you say so.”
“Yes, I suppose that will be best,” Clarence said. He did not seem to
have sense enough to express his thanks. But the cadets did this for
him, apologizing for the condition of the youth.
Then, when the disabled boat was being towed up the river, Tom and his
chums rowed the upper classmen and Clarence to the West Point shore of
the Hudson.
“Thanks very much, fellows,” said the older cadets to Tom and his
chums, as they disembarked. “You did us a good turn all right, and we
shan’t forget it.”
The thanks were formal, and, as soon as expressed, the same cold and
distant manner that always marked the difference between the plebes and
the others was resumed. But Tom and his chums understood. They had made
some lasting friends that day.
Clarence Hawkesbury, however, did not stop to thank those who had saved
him from possible injury, if not death. As soon as the rowboat touched
the dock he sneaked off, too mean to utter a decent word.
“Well, what do you think of that?” asked one of the upper classmen of
another.
“I’d hate to tell you,” was the rejoinder. “This is the last time I’ll
go out with that cad!”
“Same here!”
And so the little incident passed into history.
Now began a period of hard work for Tom and his chums. Following the
Fourth of July they were assigned to guard duty for the first time.
Some of the new cadets were on duty all night, and every half-hour the
call had to be passed along, the number of the post being given, with
the words:
“All’s well!”
It was as near to war conditions as the boys were likely to approach in
some time.
Drills were now frequent, and were of various kinds; company drill,
with field guns, in which no horses were used at first, mortar battery
drill, battalion drill, and so on. The boys were tired many times
during the days and nights spent in camp, but they all realized that
it was for their good, that it was what they had come to West Point to
learn, and that it was very necessary, if they were to become soldiers.
Tom sometimes wished he could take part with the older classes in
building pontoon bridges, and in the practical military engineering,
which consisted in mounting guns temporarily, making hasty
entrenchments, temporary fortifications, barbed-wire entanglements, and
so on.
But this was only for the upper classmen, and he realized that his turn
would come soon enough. As for the “plebes” they had a daily routine
that was rather dull, and often consisted in doing work in preparation
for the evolutions and practice of the higher classes.
Dancing and swimming lessons were a part of the work, and it may be
guessed that on hot days there was no inducement needed to get the
boys into the water. It was not quite so with the dancing, however.
Even though some of them were good dancers already, it was little fun
whirling about with another plebe wearing a white handkerchief on his
arm, to indicate that he was a “lady.”
But it all had to be done, and Tom rather liked it.