News of the desperate situation of the boys had spread rapidly. Numbers of people had assembled on the shore, and cheer after cheer greeted the plucky rescuers as they beached and made fast the boat.
Two or three doctors were among the spectators. Some thoughtful soul had hastily made and sent down a can of hot coffee, while a man from the York Hotel arrived soon afterwards with warm blankets.
"Are they alive?" was the question on the lips of every one, as the doctors ran down to the boat, and a few policemen kept the crowd back.
Dick had already unfastened his friend's braces, and taken off his shirt, in order to expose his chest fully, while Spencer and Tom Moon were doing the same for Braithwaite.
"That's right, my boy," said one of the doctors to Dick. "Now, help me to turn him face downwards. Place one of his arms under the forehead, so, and hold it there while I wipe his mouth."
Dick was half wild with grief; but he did as he was told, though feeling sure in his mind that Jim was dead.
Assisted by another man, the doctor presently turned the body gently on one side, and then back again sharply, Dick supporting the head meanwhile. This movement was repeated many times, and at last the doctor exclaimed with a look of satisfaction, "We've got him; he's beginning to breathe. Slip the trousers off and cover him with a blanket. Now rub his limbs upward, under the blanket. You've saved him, my boy!"
"Is he alive, sir?" asked Dick, hardly able to believe the truth.
"Alive? Yes; he'll be as right as ninepence in a few hours."
As soon as Jim began to breathe he was carried to a hotel close by, where the landlady busied herself to procure hot flannels and hot water-bottles. Then she brought a bottle of old wine, and gave Jim some in a teaspoon, under the doctor's orders.