The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol | Page 8

on his island, and to which his rowboat was attached, and were ready to start back, good-bys having been said.
"Hark!" exclaimed the captain, as Rob prepared to give the order to "Go ahead."
The boys listened, and heard a low, distant moaning sound, something like the deepest rumbling notes of a church organ.
"That's the wind comin'," warned the captain. "Yer'd better be hurryin' back."
With more hasty good-bys, the lads got under way at once. As they emerged from the lee of the island they could see that seaward the ocean was being rapidly lashed into choppy, white-- crested waves by the advancing storm, and that the wind was freshening into a really stiff breeze.
"Those fellows must be wishing they took our advice now if they are fools enough to have kept out," said Merritt, as he slowed down the engine so as to permit the Flying Fish to ride the rising seas more easily.
"Yes, I guess they're doing some tall thinking," agreed Tubby, as a wave caught the little Flying Fish "quartering" on her port bow, and sent a white smother of spray swirling back over her occupants.
"That's the time we got it," laughed Rob, from the wheel, peering straight ahead. Suddenly he uttered a shout and pointed seaward.
"Look there!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "There are those three fellows, and they're in trouble, from the looks of it."
The others looked, and beheld, half a mile or so away, on the roughening waters, the hull of the hydroplane. She was tossing up and down like a cork, and apparently was drifting helplessly, with her motor broken down, in the heavy sea. Her occupants seemed to be bailing her; but as they caught sight of the Flying Fish they stood up and waved frantically.
"Yes, they're in trouble, all right," agreed Tubby. "And I suppose we've got to go and get them out of it."
Rob had already put the Flying Fish about and headed her for the distressed craft. As they drew near, Sam Redding began shouting:
"Help, help! We're sinking, we're sinking!"
Jack Curtiss and Bill Bender, drenched to the skin with spray and white with fright, said nothing, but a look of great relief came over their faces as the chums' boat ranged alongside.
"I don't want to risk ramming my boat by coming right alongside," shouted Rob. "You'll have to jump for it. Don't be scared. We'll pull you aboard."
The three youths on the water-logged hydroplane looked somewhat alarmed at the prospect, but Rob knew that Jack and Bill could swim. He was not sure of Sam, but assumed, from the fact that he had lived by the sea all his life, that he was equally at home in the water.
The hesitation of Jack Curtiss and his chum was over in a minute, as the hydroplane gave a plunge that seemed as if it would be her last. Lightly dressed as they were, in canvas trousers, sleeveless jerseys and yachting shoes, it was no trick at all for them to swim the few feet to the Flying Fish. As they leaped overboard, Sam lingered.
"Come on, Sam," shouted Jack, as the boys lugged the two dripping, sputtering castaways on board.
"I--I can't swim. You'll have to come alongside for me," stuttered the badly-scared Sam.
"All right. Hold on, and we'll do what we can," hailed Rob, starting to carry out the risky maneuver of getting alongside the plunging hydroplane in the heavy sea.
In some never-to-be-explained manner, however, the frightened Sam suddenly lost his balance in the tossing racing boat, and, clawing desperately at her bulwarks to save himself, shot over the side.
"He'll drown!" shouted Jack Curtiss. "He can't swim, and he'll drown."
"If you knew that, why didn't you stand by him?" truculently growled Tubby.
Without an instant's hesitation, Merritt threw off the jacket he had put on when it started to blow, and slipped off his shoes. He was overboard and striking out for the drowning boy before those in the Flying Fish even realized his purpose.
With swift, powerful strokes he got alongside Sam just as the owner of the hydroplane was going down for the third time.
As the brave boy seized the struggling, frightened youth he felt himself gripped by the panic-stricken Sam in a frenzied hold of desperate intensity. His arms were pinioned by the drowning wretch, and they both vanished beneath the waves.
As they went under, however, Merritt managed to get one hand free, and recalling what he had read of what to do under such conditions, struck the other boy a terrific blow between the eyes. It stunned Sam completely, and, to his great relief, Merritt felt the imprisoning grip relax. He could then handle Sam easily, and as they shot to the surface he saw the Flying Fish bearing down on them, with four white, strained faces searching the