“This oar won’t hold me up,” repeated the man in terrified tones.
“It won’t if you try to climb on top of it, but it will if you just keep hold of it with your hands. As soon as I see something large enough to float you I will bring it to you.”
“Bob, is that you?” exclaimed a familiar voice. Bob looked up in great surprise, but could see no one, for the smoke rolled over him in a thick cloud, completely shutting out the steamer from his view. But he heard a slight splashing in the water near him, and when the smoke lifted a little he discovered the cub pilot clinging to the rudder. “Why, George,” he cried, “how came you there?”
“I let myself down by this rope,” was the reply; and, as before, George did not seem to be in the least alarmed. “The pilots and I went into the engine-room after some boards to serve as life-preservers, but it was so smoky in there I couldn’t stay. They got some, but I didn’t.”
“Where are they now?” asked Bob.
“Gone down the river on their boards. They tried to take me with them, but the current carried them off, and I couldn’t swim after them. How am I ever going to get away from here?”
“I’ll get you away, you may depend upon that,” was Bob’s encouraging reply. “Now, sir, I will give this oar up to you. Just keep your hands on it, as I told you, and it will float you.”
“O, boy, don’t leave me!” cried the man, as Bob let go the oar and struck out to his friend’s assistance. “Come back here and take care of me.”
“Uncle John!” cried George, in great amazement.
Uncle John (if it was he) was much too terrified to pay any attention to his nephew. He continued to call for Bob long after the smoke had concealed him from view, but the boy did not answer him. He knew that the man was in no danger, if he would only follow the instructions that had been given him, but it was not so with George. The latter had nothing to support him, and, when the fire came farther aft, and compelled him to let go his hold on the rudder (as it would in a very few minutes), that would be the last of him.