“I didn’t hit you. It was a block of wood which came sailing over from the ammunition factory,” was the quick reply. “Come on—we’ve got to get out of here, or the first thing you know we’ll be on fire.”
“Better wet your clothing,” said Andy. “It may help a whole lot.”
This was good advice, and the others lost no time in filling their baseball caps with water, which they sprinkled over their shoulders and the other portions of their baseball outfits. They also wet down the bow and stern seats of the rowboat. Then they grabbed up their oars and commenced to row up the lake, trying to get out of the range of both the fire and the smoke.
“Here is what the fire consists of,” declared Fred presently, when he caught a whisp of it on his arm. “It’s nothing but oil-soaked waste. They must have had a whole lot of it at that plant, and one of the explosions sent it high into the air and scattered it in every direction.”
The boys continued on their way for a few minutes, and then ran into another cloud of smoke. This was of a peculiar bluish-green cast, and seemed so sulphurous they were nearly choked by it.
“Listen!” burst out Andy. “I think I heard somebody calling.”
He held up one hand for silence, and all listened attentively. In spite of the roaring of the flames, which were now devouring several of the buildings at the shell-loading plant, and the continual popping of some of the smaller shells, all heard a frantic cry for assistance.
“It’s somebody calling for help!”
“Where is he?”
“I think the cry came from over yonder,” said Jack, in answer to the latter question. “Let’s pull over there and see.”