Mrs Barton and Fanny cried in vain to the spectators to aid in rescuing the children. Some of the men ran along the bank up the stream, but others stood still, and declared they had no power to save the children.
“Still, if you would but swim in, you might get on board the boat before it has gone far,” exclaimed Mrs Barton.
“And run a pretty fair chance of losing our own lives,” was the reply made by some of the men.
Some way down, another boat was at length seen. It was a small, frail skiff, and moored very near the commencement of the rapids.
“Will any one try and save my children?” exclaimed Mrs Barton in despair.
Again the men shook their heads.
“Not for a thousand pounds. Before one could reach the boat in that rotten canoe, she would be among the rapids.”
The fond mother and Fanny became almost frantic with despair. Just at that moment a figure was seen bounding down from a neighbouring height. In an instant, with a knife, he cut the painter securing the skiff to the shore. A pair of paddles were in the skiff. He leaped in and shoved off from the bank. Mrs Barton knew him, and so did Fanny.
“It’s Frank Carlton!” they exclaimed. “Oh, blessings on him! May God protect him!”
Already the boat was approaching the commencement of the rapids. Once in their power, even his sturdy arms could scarcely stem the current. Not for one moment did he calculate the difficulty or danger he was to undergo. With rapid strokes he pursued the floating boat. How eagerly did the fond mother watch his proceedings! She stood apparently calm on the bank, only now and then extending her arms, as if she would draw back the boat which contained her loved ones.