CHAPTER XVCaptain Walter
Few moments in any boy’s career have been more dreadfully thrilling than those immediately following Walter’s catching of the first distress message from the Herculanea. That there had been a terrible accident could not be doubted. The first three letters of the message were well-known “S. O. S.” Then followed a rapid succession of short sentences, relating what had occurred and giving the location of the wrecked steamer.
Walter sat at the table in the deck house of the Jetta listening to the messages almost as rigidly as if he himself had been immersed into an icy bath and frozen stiff. Not a letter escaped him. No operator, however skillful, could have dot-and-dashed too rapidly for him now. Every nerve, every fiber in his body was at its highest tension, and almost the only cause that could have stolen a word from his listening ears was the snapping of a vital cord.
Anxiety for the safety of his mother and Guy was the zero temperature that held him frozen to his chair and to the receivers. As the appeals and the crisp, snappy descriptions of what had happened came to him, he pictured the scene rapidly, instinctively, vividly. He saw his mother and brother on a deck of the steamer, nervously awaiting their fate in the decision of events. He heard them speak to each other, uttering words of cheer and fondly remarking about folks at home. He saw the ship sink lower and lower and the lifeboats descending from the davits.
Of course they were safe unless the sea were too rough for small boats. And such danger was improbable, for the operator had said nothing about it in his calls for help. He had said that it was cold, but this was all the information he had given regarding the weather. Guy saw the passengers getting into the boats, and then an awful possibility occurred to him.
Suppose there were not enough boats for all!
The Herculanea was one of the largest steamers in the world and carried enough passengers to populate a small city. It would require many boats to accommodate all these. Walter was somewhat reassured when he recalled that the Titanic disaster had waked up the leading nations of the world to the necessity of ample lifesaving facilities on all seagoing vessels, but he could not quite dismiss his fears in this regard.
In the midst of his near-panic of mind, Tony and Det arrived. The latter was not excited, although Tony had aroused him from his sleep in a manner that was enough to convince one that a war fleet had arrived from Mars or the end of the world had come. But he found Walter in an attitude that caused him to become more than serious, for the radio boy was just receiving another distress call, coupled with the announcement that the listing of the ship had rendered it impossible to launch nearly half the boats, so that many of the passengers would have to seek safety on rafts.
“What’s all this about?” demanded the old sailor with a kind of awed sternness.
Walter did not answer at once. He was listening intently. But pretty soon a short period of silence in the receivers gave him opportunity to cry out:
“Hasn’t Tony told you? The Herculanea is wrecked—going down. They’re taking to the boats, and there’s not enough boats for all. There are only rafts for hundreds of them.”
“You got that message?” inquired the incredulous man. “Where is the steamer?”
“Off Nova Scotia, four hundred miles from here.”
“You must be crazy! Your little amateur outfit couldn’t receive a message from away up there.”
“Crazy, am I?” fired back Walter. “That shows how little you know about wireless telegraphy. This outfit can take any message that any other outfit can take. I want you to know that I received those messages, and they are true. Look over this boat as fast as possible and see that she’s ready to start on a four hundred mile trip in half an hour.”
Det stared at the boy as if he thought him mad. He wondered if he were not still in his bed and dreaming. He could hardly believe his senses. But the boy was in dead earnest and could not be handled lightly. He was in a mood to give commands now, even to the grown and long experienced Det Teller, and he must be handled like a man.
“If the steamer’s going to sink, it’ll be at the bottom of the ocean almost before we can get started, let alone running four hundred miles,” objected Det.
“I don’t care if it’s four thousand miles,” Walter shouted back. Then he ceased to talk for a few moments while he caught another message. Pretty soon he spoke again, but now in a pleading tone:
“Det, Det, do get busy. This boat must start as soon as ever we can get ready. Mother and Guy may have to float in an open boat for days. We can’t run any unnecessary risks. Other steamers may pick them up, and then again they may not. Tony, will you go along?”
“Give me time to run and ask pa,” replied the boy addressed.
“I’ll give you half an hour. By that time we’ll be gone, whether you’re here or not. There’s no time to waste.”
Tony was off like a shot before his friend had finished speaking. Meanwhile Det was mechanically obeying orders. He could not well do otherwise. He wished heartily that the boy’s father were at home. He longed for more authority for such an undertaking. It was a time of the year when the sea was treacherous, and it was risky business to attempt such a trip in so small a boat. Moreover, the chances of success were so few as to render the proposition almost foolhardy in his opinion.
And yet, he dared not take the responsibility of opposing Walter. There was too much at stake. Surely Mr. Burton would countenance any step, however hazardous, taken for the purpose of rescuing two members of his family from so great a peril. If the crew of the Jetta were lost, the owner would have the consolation of knowing that they died heroes.
Det decided to go. The more he thought over the matter, the less argument he could offer against the move. He concluded that he would be branded as a coward and an unfaithful employee of the Burton family if he showed a disposition to hinder any rescue plan, unless he could offer a better. He went into the engine room, made a careful survey of the quarters, found that Walter had made practically all the preparations necessary, and then returned to the young skipper.
“Everything’s ready,” he announced. “I’m going to the house and tell Mag, an’ then I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for an answer, he was gone. He ran all the way to the house, burst into the bedroom where his wife lay, impatiently waiting his return, and in excited tones and short sentences informed her what had happened:
“Big steamer wrecked ’way up the coast. Mrs. Burton an’ Guy on board. We’re goin’ up there in the Jetta. Good-by. We’ll be gone several days.”
“My gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Teller springing out of bed and grabbing the first article of clothing she could lay her hands on. “Wait, Det; you’ll have to have something to eat on the way.”
“Shiver my fence posts if I ever thought o’ that,” exclaimed the excited farmer-sailor, “stopping in his tracks.” “I always said it was a lucky day when I married you. First I lost my head when I fell in love, then I ran away ’cause you broke my heart, and since the parson tied the knot you’ve saved my life forty-’leven times over.”
Mrs. Teller had long since been cured of her early coquettishness and it was safe enough for her jovial husband to talk in that manner. She was in no mood to pay any attention to nonsense just now. She loved Mrs. Burton with the devotion of long and faithful employment, and could think of nothing but haste and speed in assisting her husband to get ready.
“You’ll want some money, too,” she added, going to a dresser and turning on an electric light over it. Then she fished a key out of a button-box and unlocked and opened a small drawer in the upper part of the dresser.
“Here’s all but ten dollars of last month’s salary,” she said, handing a roll of bills to her husband. “Take it; you may need it. You may run out of gasoline and food, and Walter won’t have any money.”
Det took the roll and pinned it in an inside pocket of his vest.
“I’ll have you a bag full of dinner in a jiffy,” she added, as she ran with stockinged feet, into the kitchen. There she struck a light and “flew about” in a manner that would have been quite satisfactory to impatient Walter could he have seen her.
“How’d you get the news?” she asked, seizing a pot of boiled potatoes she intended to fry for breakfast and dumping them into an empty flour sack.
Det told her all he knew while she filled two sacks with promiscuous edibles, including pies, bread, cookies, cold boiled meat, and a smoked ham.
“There,” she said as she finished; “you take these sacks, and I’ll carry this basket of apples and this basket of raw potatoes, and we’ll go.”
“You’re not going along, be you?” inquired the amazed husband as he obeyed instructions.
“No,” she replied, swinging the door open and stepping out. “But I would if I could. I’ve got to stay with the children.”
Mr. and Mrs. Teller had a son and a daughter. The former was eight years old and the latter six. Besides these, Jetta Burton was living with them during the absence of her parents.
When Det and his wife reached the yacht, they met Tony and his father just arriving on a run. Mr. Lane had been aroused as vigorously by the story of the wreck and the peril to the two Burtons as Mr. Teller had been. He offered no objection to his son’s accompanying Walter on his dash to the rescue, and in a remarkably short time he and Tony were running down the road toward the yacht’s harbor.
Meanwhile messages had ceased to come from the Herculanea, and Walter concluded that the electric machinery of the liner was no longer in operation, if, indeed, the ship had not already gone down. So he left his instruments and made a hurried survey of the preparations for departure. Then he assigned Tony to the engine room, for the latter was almost as well acquainted with the motive power of the yacht as he was, and asked Det to man the stern line while he backed away from the wharf.
“See that everything’s in good running order,” he called after Tony, as the latter started for the engine room. “Then you c’n come back on deck.”
A moment later he was in the pilot house, calling to Det to release the stern line. After this had been done, he stepped on the starter, threw the clutch in reverse, and, by holding onto the bowline, forced the stern away from the wharf. Then he let go his bowline and backed out far enough to give him complete clearance, after which he reversed his wheel and threw in the clutch, giving the boat full speed ahead.
Mr. and Mrs. Lane stood on the wharf and watched the yacht till it was out of sight in the darkness. Presently Tony reappeared on deck with the report that all was running smoothly in the engine room, after which there was little conversation on board for some time. Walter was in possession of a bit of information that he would have been delighted to communicate to his friends, but he decided that it was better to keep it to himself for the present. He feared that its revelation might cause Det and Tony to urge a return home at once, and this he would not consent to do. The information was indeed of cheering nature, but he did not wish to let the rescue of his mother and his brother rest on that alone. Shortly before the operator on the Herculanea ceased to send out calls for help, Walter caught a message from another steamer, saying that it was hastening to the scene of the disaster.
But this steamer might be half-way across the Atlantic and might fail to arrive in time to be of assistance.
“I’ll wait till we’re well on our way before I tell them about it,” Walter resolved grimly.