No one looked behind till reaching the shore, and then Tom Moon noticed that Braithwaite had stopped.
"Unless he hurries up, he'll get a jolly good wetting," said Dick, and they all began to shout.
"What a muff the fellow is!" said Moon. "Why doesn't he come? There's Jimmy Hartland just come out; he'll bustle him along."
"Dick," suddenly said one of the other boys in a grave tone, "he'll be drowned, I'm sure." His name was Spencer, and his father being a fisherman, he was well acquainted with the bay.
"Look!" he continued; "just look how high the water is getting! Jim will have to stay in the Fort."
As soon as Dick grasped the danger he sent a boy for help, and with Moon and Spencer ran down the beach.
"Here you are!" he cried, stopping at the boat nearest the incoming tide. "Unfasten her, Spencer.—Light the lantern, Tommy; here's a match. Are the oars there? Right you are!—Now—one, two, three, and all together, boys. Push her along! Now she's riding! In with you!—Give me an oar, Spencer.—You steer, Tommy—straight for Braithwaite."
"No, no," said Spencer hastily; "steer for that rock with the whitewashed top; then swing her round, and we'll pick him up coming back. We should never reach there in a straight course."
"All right!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully; "you boss the show. I don't mind as long as he's saved."
The boys bent their backs with a will: but the boat was heavy, the tide strong, and, as the Angel admitted, the rowing was hardly up to regatta mark. Still they were making progress when Moon called out, "There's Hartland going for him!—Well done, Jim!—Pull, you fellows!"