“What’s the matter, Bob?” yelled Jerry, when his stout chum was near enough to hear above the roar of the wind. “You look worried!”
“I am!” was the answer. “She’s adrift! Come on down and make her fast or she’ll pound to pieces on the rocks!”
“Are you talking about that ship your uncle is supposed to be coming over on?” asked Ned in surprise.
“No! I never thought of them until just now!” panted Bob, coming to a pause. “They are out in this storm, though; aren’t they? I wonder if they’re safe?”
“Then you didn’t mean them?” asked Jerry, who had, by this time, managed to slip the leader pipe into place.
“No, I was speaking about our motor boat!” cried Bob. “Sud Snuffles just yelled at me, as he rushed past our house, that she had chafed through the mooring ropes and was going down stream. Isn’t this an awful storm, though?”
“I should say so!” cried Jerry. “But we’ve got to get busy! Come on, fellows. We don’t want our boat smashed!”
Calling to his mother to let her know where he was going, Jerry led the way, Bob and Ned following through the storm. They had recently purchased a new racing motor boat, in addition to the larger one they used for cruising and general work, and as Bob splashed through the mud and water beside Jerry he informed his tall chum that it was this boat, according to the hasty description of Sud Snuffles (a curious town character), that had gone adrift in the storm.
“That’s too bad!” cried Jerry. “She’s not built for much rough work, and it won’t take much to damage her. I hope she hasn’t gone too far down stream.”
As the motor boys turned out of Jerry’s yard into the street, the three chums almost collided with a small chap, enveloped in a big raincoat, who was coming from the opposite direction.
“Look out!” cried Jerry, catching hold of the small lad so as not to knock him over. Then the newcomer, after a glance into the faces of the three, cried out, gaspingly, and in veritable spasms of words:
“Awful—terrible! Worst storm I ever see! A thousand chimneys blown down! Two houses with no roofs! Whoop! Almost blew me—up a tree! Won’t be any water left in the river! Hear that wind! Great guns! One man caught in barn—it blew down on him—all the ships at sea are sunk! Look out! Hear that rain! Whoop!”
The small lad had to pause for breath, after this outburst, which gave Jerry a chance to say:
“Now then, Andy Rush! Hold on a minute. We’ve got something else to do beside listening to you—at least just now. Our racing boat’s adrift and we’ve got to go after her!”
“Is that so?” cried Andy, who was surely the most easily excited chap in Cresville, or for miles around. “Is that so? Too bad—I’ll go along—I can tie knots well—boat adrift—hundred people drowned—may upset—catch on fire—bang into the dock—knock the dock down—go up on land—blow out a spark plug—what a storm—awful ain’t it! Whoop!”
“Hold him, somebody, and stuff a handkerchief in his mouth,” advised Ned. “Come on, fellows, every second counts!”
“I’ll be good—won’t talk any more—please let me help you!” begged Andy in slower tones. Indeed he had to talk more slowly for his breath was about expended.
“All right, come along,” said Jerry good-naturedly. He and his chums liked Andy Rush, but he sometimes got on their nerves with his rapid, disjointed talking. Occasionally they took him on trips with them.
The four boys hurried on toward the river through the storm, which seemed to be getting worse instead of diminishing. The rain came down in torrents, and, in spite of their waterproof coats the boys were soon drenched.
“Let’s take to the middle of the street,” suggested Ned, when a broken shutter, crashing down, narrowly missed Bob.
“Guess that will be a good idea,” commented Jerry. “It will be a little safer there.”
“Unless a tree falls on us!” put in Andy. “That would be fierce! Smash down—crack your head—pin you fast—make you——”
“Andy!” cried Jerry warningly, “that will do.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot. I’ll remember. I——”
Ned gently, but firmly, placed his hand over the small lad’s mouth as they hurried on.
On every side were evidences of the raging storm. The streets were littered with debris, some thoroughfares being almost blocked. Many chimneys had been blown down, and one or two small frame houses had collapsed. The persons in them had barely escaped with their lives, and several had been injured.
There were pitiful scenes, and the boys made up their minds that they would come back and lend what aid they could to the unfortunates as soon as they had caught and made fast their fine boat.
“This certainly is fierce!” gasped Jerry, as they turned down a street leading to the river and felt the full force of the wind, which, for a space, had been broken by a row of houses. “I’m afraid we’ll never get that boat in time.”
“Oh, yes we will,” asserted Ned, confidently. “Don’t you dare say we won’t, Jerry Hopkins!”
“Well, I don’t want her to smash any more than you do, but just feel that wind, and think what it is out on the river! Even a low motor boat, without any sails, would scud along before it at easily twenty miles an hour. It’s awful!”
“That about describes it,” agreed Bob. “Say, but I’m wet. We’ll all need hot coffee after this.”
The rain and wind were chilling, and this time Bob’s reference to something to eat—or, rather something to drink—passed unnoticed.
A little later the boys were at the river, and soon had taken out their large motor boat, which, fortunately, was all ready to run, and with plenty of gasoline in the tank.
“Now for a chase!” cried Jerry.
“Yes, and a hard one, too,” added Ned. “I wonder which way the Scud went?”
“She could only go one way—that is, with the wind,” declared the tall lad, who had taken his place at the wheel. “No boat, even under power, could make much headway against this gale. Turn her over, boys, and we’ll see what happens.”
With the four lads aboard the staunch motor boat started out on the search, going with the wind. So fierce was the gale, and so swiftly did it send the boat along, that there was hardly need for the propeller, but Jerry kept it going at top speed, for he wanted to make the best time he could, and save the Scud, which was the name of the racing boat, before she pounded herself to pieces on the rocks.
The river was deserted by other craft, and the boys realized the risk they were taking in being out on the water in such a storm. But they were used to taking chances, and they simply had to try to save their fine craft.
In a short time they had covered several miles, and they had looked, unavailingly, all along the way for a sight of the Scud.
“I’m afraid she’s sunk,” said Bob.
“Too bad,” murmured Andy Rush.
“Look! What’s that?” suddenly cried Ned, pointing through the mist of rain to something afloat ahead of them. “That’s some sort of a boat!”
“She’s the Scud!” shouted Bob. “And she’s all right, so far. Hurry up, Jerry!”
The tall steersman threw the throttle full over and the motor craft shot ahead, aided by the wind. A little later they were alongside the Scud, and had made her fast to the other boat. The racing craft was somewhat scratched from having come in contact with floating debris, or the rocks in the river, but the damage was comparatively slight.
“It’s good to get her back again!” cried Bob. “Good old Scud!”
“And we didn’t get her any too soon!” exclaimed Jerry. “A little more and she’d have been on those rocks, and she’d have been a wreck when we got her off,” and he pointed to a menacing ledge of stone just ahead. Indeed it required skillful navigating for the boys themselves to get past the danger point, with the strong wind urging them on.
“We’d better not try to work back against this gale,” said Bob. “Can’t we tie the boats up somewhere along here, and go back in a car or train? We can get them later.”
“Good idea,” said Jerry. “We’ll do it.”
They obtained permission from a friendly boatman to leave their two launches tied at his dock, and making sure they were well fastened, the boys set off on their way to Cresville.
They were fortunate in catching a train, for they had come several miles from home, but in due time they were again trudging the streets of their town.
The storm was still at its height, and considerable more damage had been done to the various buildings. A relief corps had been organized, and the boys were about to offer their services when Bob, who had gone over to look at the bulletin in front of the newspaper office, came back with a serious look on his face.
“What is it?” cried Ned.
“Bad news, fellows. There’s a wireless message there, from Boston. It says that several large steamers are in distress, and that a number of small boats have foundered. But that isn’t the worst. The Hassen, with my uncle and cousin on board, has sunk, so the dispatch says,” and the tears came into poor Bob’s eyes.