The Radio Boys in Darkest Africa

by Gerald Breckenridge

Frank and Jack in the meantime took command at the bow of the raft, if the square end downstream can so be dignified. And Matse passed the word to the two remaining blacks of what was intended. All five were to stand ready to leap into the water as they approached the cove and help to direct the raft into it.

On swept the raft. And now it could be seen that, even though the direction given it by the steering oar was carrying it steadily toward the island, yet so strong was the drag of the current upon its unwieldly bulk that the raft would arrive only by the narrowest of margins, if at all. And, if they missed the cove, almost certain destruction awaited beyond.

“If I think we’re going to miss it, Bob,” shouted Jack from the bow, “I’ll warn you in time so that you and the blacks can run forward and swim for the cove.”

Bob shouted an “All right,” to show he had heard. But he did not look up. The improvised steering oar was bending under the strain placed upon it, and he was fearful it would snap at any moment. Still it held, however. And Bob was grimly determined that as long as there remained a chance to bring their rude craft to shore, he’d stick to it.

A sensible diminution in the tug of the water a moment later apprised Bob that they had managed to swing the raft out of the center of the current. They were close to the island now. But they were close to the cove, too. In fact, they were almost abreast of it. And that meant that unless they could swing the raft in at once, it would be carried beyond the only possible landing place.

Bob decided to change his tactics. Instead of using his improvised paddle as steering oar, he would use it as a sweep. The raft had been spun around so that the forward end faced the shore. Bob couldn’t speak to the Kikuyus in their own tongue, but he could signal his intentions. And this he did by thrusting them away and himself straining to work the oar back and forth. Then he beckoned them to assist him, and they understood and leaped to obey.

Over his shoulder he glanced anxiously toward the forward end, and with a leap of the heart he saw that they were making progress. The threshing of the sweep, acting as a paddle wheel, was sending them toward the shore. But still their progress was not sufficient to put them into the cove for, although the pull of the current had diminished, it still was sweeping them along at a rate which threatened to carry them beyond the safety zone.

But Frank and Jack also were alive to the danger. And they had changed their original plan of all leaping into the water and attempting to pull the raft ashore by swimming. For as they drew closer to the cove, Jack had gotten the idea that, perhaps, the river grew shallower here and had thrust one of the long poles into the water. It had been almost torn from his hand. Nevertheless, he had touched bottom.

So now the two boys and the three blacks not engaged on the sweep with Bob lined the downstream side of the raft, two to a pole. And at every thrust they touched bottom.

For a long minute it was touch and go, and whether the combined efforts of the men at the poles with those at the sweep would succeed in bringing the raft into the backwater of the cove, hung in the balance. But human determination defeated the river, robbed it of its victims. After proceeding only by inches, the raft suddenly shot ahead, as if the river deciding it was defeated spurned this stubborn craft at the last. And the next moment, the raft was bobbing in the backwater of the cove, where the current was not perceptible, while just beyond the rocks guarding the two extremities of its half-moon shore the river rolled on so swiftly as to make a sharp line of cleavage between the main stream and the cove.