CHAPTER XVIIITHE FIRST KINK OF THE PROBLEM SOLVED
Again the roaring chorus rang out.
“What’s this? College boys’ joke on me, or a floating mad-house?” huskily roared down the freighter’s captain from the bridge.
“It’s all right, captain,” sang back Tom Halstead. “We’ll make it plain to you as soon as we get a chance. We’re neither as bad nor as dangerous as we seem.”
The “Glide’s” headway had all but ceased by this time, and the side gangway was at last in place. The “Restless” was run in close, while Hank stood up on the top of the forward deck-house with a coil of line, waiting until it came time to leap across onto the platform of the freighter’s gangway and make the line fast.188
As quickly as the line was secured Captain Tom Halstead followed Butts, and dashed on past him up the steps of the gangway. Ab and Dick came down to meet him, each grabbing one of the young skipper’s hands and wringing it.
Then they turned to give the same greeting to Joe Dawson, who gasped:
“Gracious, but itdoesseem good to meet fellows of the Club and from the old home town at that!”
Mr. Seaton, though following in more leisurely fashion, now passed them, going on up to the deck. There he met Captain Rawley.
“Don’t mind what my young men do, captain,” begged the charter-man, “and don’t mind if they delay you for a few minutes. I’ll make good the damage.”
“Help yourself to a little of my time, then, sir,” grimaced the freighter’s captain. “Anything that I can spare from the proper time of the run, you understand.”
“How on earth do you fellows happen to be on this ship, of all places in the world?” demanded Tom Halstead.
“Easy enough to explain,” laughed Dick Davis. “Port authorities at Rio were good enough to order six motor boats for harbor purposes. My dad got the chance of building the boats at his yard at Bath. The Rio motor boats189are on board, down in the hold, and Ab and I are sent along to deliver the motor boats, put them in running order at Rio, and, if necessary, teach the natives how to run such craft.”
“Did you fellows know we were signaling you by wireless?” Joe was asking Ab Perkins. “Did you know that you were going to see us?”
“Didn’t know a blessed thing about it,” admitted Ab Perkins, almost sheepishly. “Dick and I were asleep in our stateroom. We were getting ready to come out on deck when we felt the old tub slackening speed. Then we came out to see what was happening. We looked over the rail, and—wow!”
Ab again seized Joe Dawson’s hand, giving it another mighty shake. Then the irrepressible Ab reached out for Tom’s hand, but Dick Davis was drawing Halstead up on deck.
Readers of the first volume of this series will remember both Ab and Dick well. They, too, were boys born near the Kennebec River, and took part in the stirring adventures narrated inThe Motor Boat Club of The Kennebec, just before Tom and Joe left for the next scenes of their activities, as related inThe Motor Boat Club at NantucketandThe Motor Boat Club off Long Island. Ab Perkins and Dick Davis were two of the most valued of the early members of the Club.190
All in a twinkling, Tom Halstead was seized by an idea. He looked about for Powell Seaton, saw that gentleman talking with Captain Rawley, and caught the charter-man’s eye.
“See here, Mr. Seaton,” whispered Halstead, as soon as he had gotten his employer aside, “there’s no great need for me to go to Rio.”
“No?”
“Of course not. Give the papers to Dick Davis, with exact instructions as to who is to receive them at Rio Janeiro, and those papers will get into exactly the hands for which you intend them.”
“You feel certain of that, Halstead?” demanded Powell Seaton, his voice tremulous with anxiety.
“Absolutely sure, sir. Dick Davis can be trusted as long the world holds together. There isn’t the faintest yellow streak in him, either. Square, straight, keen, brave—that’s Dick Davis. And Ab Perkins would go through the jaws of anything with Davis! Why, Mr. Seaton, they’re Motor Boat Club boys! You can trust them to the same degree as you’re willing to trust me. Moreover, they’re going down to Rio on a mission to the Government. They’ve got a better chance to get ashore, unmolested and unwatched, than any other stranger would have.”191
“Get your friends together, then, somewhere where we can have a private corner,” begged Powell Seaton. “We’ll talk this matter over—we’ve got to talk like lightning, at that.”
While Mr. Seaton sought Captain Rawley, Tom shot back along the deck to where Joe, Hank and the two Rio-bound members of the Motor Boat Club stood talking.
“Hank,” said Tom, in a low voice, “Hepton is all alone down on the ‘Restless,’ except for our prisoner aft. Hepton may be all right, and I think he is—but one of our own crowd ought to be on board our boat.”
“I’ll be the one, then,” half-sighed Hank Butts, turning to descend the side gangway.
Captain Rawley promptly agreed to turn his own cabin over to the friends who wanted a private chat.
“But only for five minutes, mind you,” he insisted. “Then I must be on my way.”
Behind the closed door of the captain’s room Powell Seaton and Tom Halstead swiftly explained what was wanted.
“Will we do it?” said Dick Davis, repeating the question that had been asked him. “Why, of course we will. There’s only one answer possible. Tom Halstead is fleet captain of the Motor Boat Club, and a request from Captain Tom is the same thing as an order.”192
“You will go straight to the American consulate at Rio Janeiro, then,” directed Mr. Seaton. “From the consulate you will send a messenger to bring to you Shipley D. Jarvis, whose address is the American Club. The American consul will be able to assure you that it is Shipley D. Jarvis who comes to you. You will turn over these papers to Mr. Jarvis in the presence of the American consul. A letter from me is in the envelope with the papers. That is all, except––”
After a brief pause Mr. Seaton went on to caution Dick Davis and Ab Perkins as to the dangers against which they must guard on the way. This Tom Halstead supplemented with an exact description of Anson Dalton and of Captain Dave Lemly, of the now seized “Black Betty.”
“Either, or both, of the rascals may board this ship a little further along,” cautioned Mr. Seaton. “Night and day you must be on your guard against them.”
Then Tom Halstead quickly outlined to Davis a system of apparently common-place wireless messages by means of which Davis might be able to keep Mr. Seaton informed of the state of affairs, for some days to come, on board the “Glide.”
Some further last instructions were added.193Powell Seaton wound up by forcing a few banknotes into the hands of both these unexpected messengers.
“Wait until we’ve succeeded,” proposed Dick Davis.
“This is for expense money, for sending wireless messages, and other things,” replied Mr. Seaton. “Your real reward will come later on.”
“When we’ve succeeded,” nodded Davis.
So much time had been taken up by this talk that now all had to step out on deck.
“We’re ready to go aboard our boat, sir,” Skipper Tom reported.
“You and Dawson go, Halstead,” nodded Mr. Seaton. “I want not more than sixty seconds with Captain Rawley in his own room.”
When the charter-man of the “Restless” came out once more the thick pile of banknotes in his pocket had grown a good deal thinner, but Captain Rawley had been enlisted as a friend to the cause.
“Good-bye, old chums,” cried Dick Davis, gripping a hand of Tom and Joe with each of his own.
“Good-bye! Good luck now, and all the way through life!” murmured Tom, earnestly, and with a hidden meaning that Davis caught.
As speedily as Tom and Joe had assisted194Powell Seaton aboard the motor boat, Hank cast off, while the crew of the “Glide” began to raise the side gangway.
There were more rousing farewells between the two groups of Motor Boat Club boys. Then the hoarse whistle of the “Glide” sounded, and the freighter began to go ahead at half-speed.
The “Restless” fell away and astern, yet she followed the freighter. That she should do so had been understood with Captain Rawley, and with Dick and Ab. Powell Seaton intended to keep the “Glide” within sight for at least thirty-six hours, if possible, in order to make sure that the seventy-foot drab boat did not attempt to put Anson Dalton or any other messenger on board.
“If we stick to the sea for a hundred years, Joe,” laughed Skipper Tom, as he followed the bigger craft at a distance of eight hundred feet, “nothing as lucky as this is likely to happen again. I was afraid I was booked for Rio, for sure, and it made me heartsick to think of leaving the ‘Restless’ so long and living aboard a big tub of an ordinary, steam-propelled ship!”
“I’ve taken the step, now, and can’t very well change it,” declared Mr. Seaton, who looked both pale and thoughtful. “Halstead, all I can hope and pray for is that your comrades195on the ship ahead are as clever and watchful, as brave and honest as you think.”
“If wondering about Dick and Ab is all that ever worries me,” laughed Tom Halstead, easily, “I don’t believe I shall ever have any wrinkles. I know those boys, Mr. Seaton. We were born and raised in the same little Maine seacoast town, and I’d trust that pair with the errand if it were my own diamond field at stake.”
The fog had lifted sufficiently, by this time, so that clear vision was to be had for at least a quarter of a mile.
Skipper Tom whistled as he handled the wheel. Joe Dawson was so relieved in mind that, after a careful look at the motors, he threw himself upon one of the berths opposite and dozed. Hank put in his time looking after preparations for supper.
“What ails you, Halstead?” demanded Seaton, pausing abruptly beside the young skipper.
For the boy had turned, suddenly, to a sickly pallor.
“It has just struck me, sir,” confessed the young motor boat skipper, “that, if Dalton has the slightest suspicion of what we’ve done to outwit him, he’s just the man who will be desperate enough to put his whole set of papers in at the nearest cable office for direct sending to Rio Janeiro!”
196CHAPTER XIXHELPLESS IN THE NORTHEASTER!
“I’ve already thought of that,” nodded Powell Seaton.
“And it doesn’t worry you, sir—doesn’t make you anxious?” questioned Captain Tom Halstead.
“No. Of course, Dalton might cable the full contents of the papers. If the paper could fall only into Governor Terrero’s hands it would be well worth the cable tolls. But if such a cablegram were sent, openly, to Terrero, or one of his representatives, it would have to go, first of all, through the hands of the Government officials who have charge of the cable.”
“But couldn’t Terrero fix that?” asked Halstead.
“No; Rio is out of his state, and beyond the sphere of his strongest influence. Now, if I were to land in Rio Janeiro, I would be arrested on a warrant issued by Terrero’s judges, up in the state of Vahia, and I would have to go to Vahia for trial. Undoubtedly Terrero’s rascally officers would shoot me on the way, and report that I had tried to escape.”
“Then what harm could it do to Terrero’s197chances for Dalton to send him the cablegram direct?”
“Why, either the cable officials in Rio are very great rascals, or else they are honest officials. If they are rascals, they might hold the cablegram long enough to act for themselves on the information it contained. On the other hand, if they are honest officials, then they would undoubtedly notify the Government of such a stupendous piece of news. The Government would then very likely take charge of my diamond field itself, which would be wholly legal, for the Government already owns many, if not the greater number, of the producing diamond fields of that country. So, if the Government, acting on information from its cable officials, took possession of the news and of the diamond field, what good would the cablegram do Governor Terrero? No; you may be very sure that Dalton won’t send the contents of the papers by cablegram. He undoubtedly has the strongest orders from Terrero against doing that.”
“I feel better, then,” Tom admitted. “For the moment it came over me, like a thunderbolt, that Dalton might nip all our work in the bud by sending a cablegram. Still, couldn’t he send it by code?”
“No; for only the ordinary codes can go198through the Brazilian cable offices, and the Government officers have the keys to all the codes that are allowed. Rest easy, Halstead; Dalton won’t attempt to use the cable.”
“Then, if he doesn’t get aboard the ‘Glide,’ we’ll beat him out to Brazil—that’s the surest thing in the world!” cried Tom, with as much enthusiasm as though the great fortune at stake were his own.
They were still following in the wake of the “Glide.” Once in a while Dick Davis or Ab Perkins had the operator on the freighter flash back a wireless message of a friendly, personal nature. Joe answered all these.
For thirty-six hours this pleasant stern-chase lasted. By night the helmsman of the “Restless” kept the searchlight enough in use to make sure that the drab boat did not appear.
“Dalton and Lemly lost the ‘Glide,’ if they were looking for her, in the fog,” chuckled Halstead, in huge satisfaction. “Any Rio-bound boat they can catch now is hopelessly to the rear of the ‘Glide,’ I reckon.”
Joe, by wiring back, and asking other wireless vessels to relay, from time to time, had ascertained that there was no other steam vessel, bound for Rio, in close pursuit.
Mr. Seaton took his trick at the wheel occasionally.199So did Hepton. Joe gave most of his time to the wireless installation, though he maintained charge of the motors, Hank doing most of the work there. All had sleep enough during the cruise south. Joe used some of his spare time in carrying out his former plan of connecting the wireless table with the helmsman by means of a speaking tube.
They were well down the coast of Florida when even anxious Powell Seaton declared that there was no need of cruising longer in the wake of the “Glide.” He felt certain that the freighter had entirely eluded the vigilance of those on board the drab boat.
By this time the supply of gasoline was nearly out. Tom had cautioned the charter-man that so long a run would use up about the last of their oil. There was, however, a small sail fitted to the signal mast. Now, when the crew of the “Restless” turned back, the sail was hoisted and power shut off.
“We’ve oil enough to run perhaps three-quarters of an hour, sir,” the young skipper explained. “We’ll have to use that up in making port when we get in sight.”
Sailing aboard the “Restless” proved lazy work at the outset. With this small sail there was not wind enough to carry the boat at much more than two miles per hour on her northwest200course for the nearest Florida town where gasoline was likely to be had.
“We’ll have a jolly long sail of it,” laughed Skipper Tom, “unless the wind should freshen.”
“Well, we don’t care,” smiled Mr. Seaton. “At least, you won’t be overworked. And our minds are easier—mine especially.”
“All of us have easier minds,” Halstead retorted. “Don’t you understand, sir, that the rest of us have taken this whole business to heart? We couldn’t be more concerned than we are to see the affairs of our charter parties come through all right.”
“Oh, I believe that,” nodded Powell Seaton. “You boys have been the strongest sort of personal friends to me in my troubles. You couldn’t possibly have made my affairs, and my dangers, more thoroughly your own troubles.”
Two hours later a wireless message came back from the “Glide.” It was from Dick Davis, and couched in vague terms, but meant to inform those aboard the “Restless” that the drab seventy-footer was still out of sight. An hour after that a second message reached the motor boat. Soon after the “Restless” found herself unable to answer, though still able to receive.
“Hank, are you feeling particularly strong to-day?” inquired Mr. Seaton.201
“I’m always strong, sir,” replied the young steward.
“Then why not rack your pantry stores in order to supply the biggest thing in a meal for all hands this evening? I feel more like eating than I have any day in a month.”
“You’d have to go to a sure-enough number-one hotel to find a better meal than I’ll put up for this evening,” retorted Hank, grinning gleefully, as he started for the galley.
In such lazy weather Tom Halstead felt that he could go below for a nap, especially as Joe was around. Hepton was left at the wheel. Tom speedily closed his eyes in one of the soundest naps he had enjoyed in many a day. He was awakened by Hank, who came into the stateroom and shook him by the shoulder.
“Weather’s all right, up to now,” Butts informed the young captain. “Still, we don’t like the looks of the sky, and the barometer is beginning to show signs of being eccentric. Won’t you come up on deck for a minute, anyway?”
Tom was out of his berth in a twinkling. There was enough of the sea-captain in him for that. The instant he reached the deck his gaze swept around anxiously, inquiringly, at the sky.
“The clouds up on the northeast horizon don’t202look exactly friendly, do they?” he inquired of Joe.
“Don’t know,” replied Dawson. “Haven’t seen enough of them yet.”
“I’m thinking you will, soon,” replied Halstead. “How’s the wind been?”
“From the east, sir,” replied Hepton, who was at the wheel.
“It’s working around to northeast, now,” muttered Halstead. “And it was almost from the south when I turned in.”
Tom stood by the barometer, watching it.
“Trouble coming,” he said, briefly.
Within half an hour his prediction began to be verified. The darkish, “muddy” clouds first seen on the northeast horizon were looming up rapidly, the wind now driving steadily from that quarter. Even with all the smallness of her single sail the “Restless” was heeling over considerably to port.
“Lay along here, Hank, and help me to put a double reef in the sail,” Tom ordered. “I don’t want this little bit of canvas blown away from us.”
As Tom called, he eased off the sheet, and Hepton lounged away from the wheel.
“Too bad,” muttered Hank Butts. “We’ve been making a good four knots since the wind freshened.”203
“I’m out of a guess if there isn’t a wind coming that’d take a sail out of its fastenings in ten seconds,” rejoined Halstead, working industriously with the reeves.
A light squall struck them before the boys had finished their task.
“A September northeaster along this coast is no laughing matter, from all I’ve heard of it,” Tom explained as the two boys took the last hitches. “Now, come on, Hank. We’ll hoist her.”
With long rhythmic pulls at the halyards Tom and Butts got the shortened sail up, making all secure.
“You’d better take the wheel, Joe,” sang out the young skipper. “Hepton, stand by to give a hand if the helm moves hard.”
“You seem rather excited over a pleasant breeze like this,” observed Powell Seaton.
“Wait,” said Tom, quietly. “I only hope I am taking too much precaution. I’ve never handled a boat along the Florida coast before, you know, sir, so it’s best to err on the side of caution.”
Hank was sent off on the jump, now, to make everything secure, while Skipper Tom took his place on the bridge deck at starboard to watch the weather.
“I guess there’ll be time, now, Hank, to rig204life lines on the bridge deck,” hinted Halstead, coolly. “Never mind about any aft. Whoever goes below can go through the motor room.”
Catching a look full of meaning in the young commander’s eye, Butts hustled about his new task.
“You seem to be making very serious preparations,” suggested Powell Seaton, seriously.
“Nothing like being a fool on the wise side,” answered Skipper Tom, calmly.
Within ten minutes more the wind had freshened a good deal, and the “Restless” was bending over considerably to port, running well, indeed, considering her very small spread of canvas.
Now, the sky became darker. The weather was like that on shore in autumn when the birds are seen scurrying to cover just before the storm breaks.
“I reckon there’s going to be something close to trouble, after all,” observed Powell Seaton, when it became necessary for him to hold his hat on.
Tom nodded in a taciturn way, merely saying:
“If you’re going to stay on deck, Mr. Seaton, you’d better put on a cap, or a sou’wester.”
Mr. Seaton started below, through the motor205room. While he was still there the gale struck, almost without further warning.
“Watch the wind and ease off a bit, Joe,” bawled Skipper Halstead in his chum’s ear.
Joe Dawson nodded slightly. The gale was now upon them with such fury that making one’s self heard was something like work.
Despite the prompt easing by the helm, the “Restless” bowled over a good deal as the crest of the first in-rolling wave hit her.
Powell Seaton, a cap on his head, appeared at the motor room hatchway. Tom motioned him to remain where he was.
Clutching at the rail, Tom Halstead kept his face turned weatherward most of the time. He knew, now, that a fifty-five-foot boat like the “Restless,” weather-staunch though she was, was going to have about all she could do in the sea that would be running in a few minutes more.
Nor did he make any mistake about that. A darkness that was almost inky settled down over them. Bending through the hatchway, the young sailing master yelled to Powell Seaton to switch on the running lights.
“For we’ll need ’em mighty soon, if we don’t now,” Captain Tom added.
Hank reappeared with rain-coats, and with his own on. Hardly had those on deck so covered206themselves when, accompanied by a vivid flash of lightning and a crashing peal of thunder, the rain came down upon them. At first there were a few big drops. Then, the gale increasing, the rain came in drenching sheets. The decks began to run water, almost choking the scuppers.
The heeling of the “Restless” was no longer especially noticeable. She was rolling and pitching in every direction, accompanied by a straining and creaking of timbers.
Powell Seaton, standing below, clutching for support, and not much of a sailor at best, began to feel decidedly scared.
“Are we going to be able to weather this, Captain Halstead?” he yelled up, as the young skipper paused close by the hatchway.
Though the noise of the now furious gale prevented Tom from making out the words very clearly, he knew, by instinct, almost, what had been asked of him.
“Weather the gale, sir?” Tom bawled down, hoarsely. “Of course! We’ve got to!”
There was a new sound that made the young sailing master jump, then quiver. With a great tearing and rending the single canvas gave way before the roaring gale. In a trice the sail was blown to fluttering ribbons!
207CHAPTER XX“C.Q.D! C.Q.D.!—HELP!”
“Lay along with me, Hank!” bawled the young skipper, hoarsely, in the steward’s ear. “We’ve got to cut away what’s left of the sail.”
Neither helmsman could wisely be spared. Though the boat now had no power of her own she was being driven sharply before the gale, and some fine handling of the wheel was needed in order to keep the boat so headed that she might wallow as little as possible in the trough of the sea.
Nor was the work of the young captain and Hank Butts anything like play. Making their way out along the top of the cabin deck-house was in itself hazardous. They were forced to clutch at any rigging that came to hand to avoid being washed overboard, for the waves were dashing furiously over the helpless boat.
It was not much of a task to haul in the sheet, making fast. Then, using their sailor’s knives, they slashed away.
It was needful for one of them to go aloft.
“I can do it,” proposed Hank, summoning all his courage.208
“I know you can,” Tom bawled in his ear. “But I’m not going to send anyone where I wouldn’t go myself. It’s mine to go aloft.”
Thrusting his knife securely into the sheath at the end of its lanyard, Tom Halstead began to climb. Hank watched him closely. The pair at the wheel had no time to observe. All their attention was needed on their own work.
As he climbed, Tom Halstead had a sensation of being in danger of being pitched overboard.
Next, as the “Restless” lay over harder than she had yet done, it seemed as though the mast were bent on touching the water. Halstead had to halt in his climbing, satisfied to hold on for dear life.
“Oh, if we only had enough gasoline aboard!” groaned the young skipper, regretfully. “It would be a tough storm, even then, though nothing like as bad as this!”
As the boat partially righted herself, he went on with his climbing. At length he found himself where he could bring his knife into play, slashing away the fragments of the wind-torn canvas. When the work was done Halstead let himself to the deck again, half-expecting that the force of the pitching and fury of the gale would catch him and sweep him over into the dark, raging waters.
Yet he reached the deck in safety, finding209himself beside Hank Butts, who, by this time, looked more like some water-logged thing than a natty steward.
“Come on below to the sail-locker,” roared Captain Tom in the other boy’s ear. “Be careful to hold to the life lines and go slow when the boat heels over. We’ll get the new sail out and rig it—if we can.”
Hepton, seeing them coming, made a sign to Joe, who stood doggedly braced at the wheel. Joe did all he could—it was little enough—to swing the boat’s head a trifle so that she would ride more easily, if possible, in that terrible sea.
Slowly Tom and Hank made their way to the motor room door and slipped down below. There Powell Seaton, his face white, confronted them.
“Captain, this is awful. I don’t see how the ‘Restless’ rides such a sea at all.”
“She’d not only ride but steer well, sir, if we had gasoline enough to run her by her propellers,” Halstead shouted back. “I’d go all the way to Havana in a gale like this if I could use the twin propellers. The ‘Restless’ is a sea boat, and she can’t sink unless the watertight compartments are smashed.”
“But she can turn over and ride keel upward, can’t she?” demanded Mr. Seaton, with a ghastly grin.210
“She can, sir, if she heels enough,” Tom admitted. “But that’s why Joe’s at the wheel—because we need a fellow who can make the most out of such headway as the force of wind and waves gives us. And now, sir, Hank and I must try to rig a new sail.”
Out of the sail-locker they dragged the new canvas. It was all in readiness for rigging. In calm weather they could have done this readily—but now? Only time could tell.
“Lend ’em a hand, Hepton!” roared Joe, as he saw the young captain and helper appear with the bulky canvas.
It was all the three of them could do, in the rolling, high seas in which the “Restless” pitched like a chip of wood, to get that sail on top of the cabin deck-house. Bit by bit they rigged it in place, working fast, straining muscle and sinew to hold the sail against the gale that strove to carry the canvas overboard. At last, they had it in place, ready for hoisting.
“Stand by to hoist,” sang out Captain Tom. “The two of you. Go slow! I’ll watch for trouble as you shake it out.”
All the reefs had been taken in the sail before hoisting. Tom Halstead had made up his mind to be satisfied with just a showing of canvas to catch the high wind—enough to keep the boat steady.211
As the sail went up, flapping wildly in the breeze, Halstead began to have his doubts whether it would last long. It was their last chance, however, for the control of the “Restless.”
“Lay along here!” roared Tom, through his hands as a trumpet, when he saw that they had made the halyards fast. Now he signed to them to help him haul in on the sheet. Joe, watching, just making out the white of the canvas through the darkness, threw the wheel over to make the craft catch the wind. In a few moments more the gale was tugging against the small spread of canvas, and the “Restless” was once more under control—while the sail lasted!
All but exhausted, the trio found their way forward. For a brief space they tumbled below into the motor room, though Halstead stood where he could see Joe Dawson and spring to his aid when needed.
“Hank,” called Halstead, five minutes later, “your trick and mine on deck. We’ll give Joe and Hepton a chance to get their wind below.”
Small as was the spread of canvas, Tom found, when he took the wheel, that the good little “Restless” was plunging stiffly along on her course. She was a wonderfully staunch little boat. The young sailing master bewailed his luck in having hardly any gasoline on board.212It should never happen again, he promised himself.
Again? Was there to be any “again”? The motor boat captain was by no means blind to the fact that the “Restless” hadn’t quite an even chance of weathering this stiff gale. At any moment the sail might go by the board in ribbons, as the first had done. Hank was not even watching the sail. If it gave way it must.
Joe presently came on deck for his next trick at the wheel. Hepton was with him.
“I’ve been thinking about the prisoner in the starboard stateroom,” announced Joe. “It’s inhuman to leave him there, locked in and handcuffed, in such a gale. He must be enduring fearful torment.”
“Yes,” nodded Tom. “I’ve just been thinking that I must go down and set him free as soon as I’m relieved.”
“Go along, then,” proposed young Dawson. “I have the wheel, and Hepton by me.”
Taking Hank Butts with him, Tom Halstead made his way below.
“Dawson was just speaking to me about our prisoner,” began Powell Seaton. “Dawson thinks he ought to be turned loose—at least while this gale lasts.”
“Yes,” nodded Captain Halstead. “I’m on my way to do it now.”213
“Will it be safe?”
“We can’t help whether it is, or not,” Skipper Tom rejoined. “It’s a humane thing to do, and we’ll have to do it.”
Powell Seaton did not interpose any further objections. It would have been of little moment if he had, for, on the high seas, the ship’s commander is the sole judge of what is to be done.
Even below decks, going through the electric-lighted passage and cabin, Tom and Hank made their way with not a little difficulty. They paused, at last, before the starboard stateroom door, and Tom fitted the key in the lock.
Jasper, the man locked within, faced them with affrighted gaze.
“We’re going to the bottom?” he demanded, hoarsely, tremulously. His very evident terror gave the young skipper a new idea.
“Are you prepared to go to the bottom, Jasper?” demanded Halstead.
“Am I fit to die, do you mean?” asked the man, with a strange, sickly grin. “No, sir; I’m not. At least, not until I’ve cleared myself by telling a few truths.”
“Come out into the cabin, man,” ordered Halstead, leading him. “Now, sit down, and I’ll get your handcuffs off.”
The young captain of the “Restless” unlocked214the irons about the fellow’s wrists. Jasper stretched his hands, flexing his wrists.
“Now, I can swim, anyway, though I don’t believe it will do much good,” he declared.
“No; it won’t do much good,” Halstead assented. “We’re something more than forty miles off the coast. But what do you want to say? What’s on your mind? Be quick, man, for we must be on deck again in a jiffy. I don’t want to lose my boat while I’m below with a rascal like you.”
“I haven’t always been a rascal,” retorted Jasper, hanging his head. “At least, I have been fairly straight, until the other day.”
“What have you been doing for Dalton and Lemly?” demanded Tom Halstead, fixing his gaze sternly on the frightened fellow.
“Never anything for Dalton,” whined Jasper.
“Well, for Lemly, then?”
“Oh, I’ve been snooping about a bit, for two years or so, getting tips for Dave Lemly.”
“What has Lemly been smuggling in the ‘Black Betty’ all this time?”
“Diamonds,” admitted Jasper, sullenly.
Tom Halstead felt like giving a great start, but controlled himself.
“Smuggling diamonds under Anson Dalton’s orders, eh?” insisted the young skipper.
“Yes; I reckon so.”215
“How did you come into our matter—as a guard and a traitor?”
“I was on hand when Mr. Seaton was getting his guards together,” replied Jasper. “So was Dave Lemly’s mate. The mate told me to jump in and get my chance with the guard.”
“What other orders did you have?”
“I was to watch my chance to do anything nasty that I could,” confessed the fellow, hanging his head.
“That was why you tried to ruin our aerials?”
“Yes.”
“You also listened to Mr. Seaton and myself, the night we were going over to Lonely Island?”
Jasper squirmed, his face growing more ashen.
“You heard what was said about papers hidden in a cupboard at the bungalow. Did you? Answer me, confound you!”
With an appearance of utter rage Tom bounded at the fellow, as though about to attack him. Hank closed in, to be ready in case the attack turned out to be a genuine one.
“Yes, I stole an envelope full of papers,” admitted Jasper.
“What did you do with them?”
“I turned them over to Dave Lemly.”216
“Where? On Lonely Island?”
“Yes; Lemly visited the island twice, at night, while I was on duty there,” confessed the fellow, whining and letting his head fall lower.
“What else have you done against us?”
“Nothing, except trying to disable your wireless.”
“Are you telling the whole, full truth?” demanded Captain Tom Halstead, surveying the fellow suspiciously. “As much of the truth as you want to lay bare before going to the bottom in this wild storm?”
“Yes! Oh, yes, yes!” insisted Jasper, easily. “Now, I’ve cleared my conscience of its load!”
“Humph!” muttered Tom Halstead, dryly.
At that moment a snapping sound overhead reached their ears. The “Restless” veered about, then heeled dangerously.
“Our second and last sail has gone!” cried the young skipper, starting forward. “Jasper, I hope you have told me the whole truth, for there is no knowing, now, how soon you’ll start for the bottom—how soon we’ll all go down. Helpless in this sea, the ‘Restless’ may ‘turn turtle.’”
Nor was Tom speaking in jest, nor in any effort to scare the recent prisoner into a fuller confession. Indeed, the motor boat captain was217paying no further heed to the wretch, but making his way forward. Jasper started to follow, Hank bringing up the rear.
As they reached the motor room the pitching and rolling of the boat were awesome enough. It seemed incredible that a boat the size of the “Restless” could live even a minute in her now helpless condition.
Joe still stood at the wheel, white-faced but calm.
“I don’t see what we can do now, Tom,” he shouted.
“Nothing but get down to the wireless, and do anything you can in the way of picking up some steamship,” Halstead answered. “We might get a tow, or, at least, another spread of canvas for a third try to ride out the gale. The chances aren’t big for us, but—well, Joe, we’re sailors, and can take our medicine.”
Joe smiled grittily as he edged away from the wheel after his chum had taken it.
“At least, if we go down, we go down in command of our own ship!” he yelled bravely in Tom’s ear through the wild racket of the gale.
Then Joe went below. The storage batteries held electricity enough to operate the few lights and keep the wireless going at intervals for some hours yet.
Once, in the minutes that dragged by, Hank218Butts thought of the fine spread he had been instructed to serve all hands that night. But no one else was thinking of food now. Coffee would have been more to the purpose, but to start a galley fire was to take the risk of adding fire at sea to the already more than sufficient perils of those aboard the “Restless.”
Every few minutes Captain Tom Halstead called down through the speaking tube that connected him with Joe Dawson at the sending table. Always Joe’s calm answer came, the same:
“Our wireless spark hasn’t picked up any other ship yet.”
Then, just as frequently, Joe would rest his hand on the sending key again, and send crashing off into space the signal:
“C.Q.D.!” The three letters that carry always the same message of despair across the waves.
“C.Q.D.!”—the wireless signal of distress. “Help wanted, or we perish!”
219CHAPTER XXITHE SPARK FINDS A FRIEND THROUGH THE GALE
The time had dragged on far into the night. Joe was still at the wireless sending table, sleepless, patient, brave—a sailor born and bred.
Jasper, like many another rascal a superstitious coward in the face of impending death, was seeking to appease the sting of his conscience by doing everything in his power to make amends in these grave moments. He stood by, pallid-faced yet collected enough to obey any order instantly.
Captain Tom remained on deck all the time now, though Hank often relieved him briefly at the wheel. Both Hepton and Jasper stood by to help as deck-hands. Powell Seaton came up on deck occasionally, though he remained more in the motor room.
Again and again Joe signaled—always that desperately appealing “C.Q.D.!” It was all the signal he needed to send out. Wherever heard, on land or water, the first operator to catch it would break in at once with a demand for further particulars.
Yet Joe’s soul grew sick within him as time220passed, and no such break came through the storm-laden air. For Dawson, as well as had he stood on deck, knew that this endless, malignant fury of the gale must sooner or later start the seams of the staunch little craft. Or else, struck by a wave bigger than any others, she would lie so far over on her beam ends that she must finish the manœuvre by “turning turtle”—lying with her keel uppermost, and the crew penned underneath to drown in haste.
“Nothing to report yet, Joe, old fellow?” came down Captain Tom’s brave though anxious voice for perhaps the fortieth time.
“No reply to our signals, Tom,” went back the answer.
“Do you think our spark is still strong enough to carry far?”
“Plenty of electric ‘juice’ left,” Joe responded. “The spark is as strong as ever. Oh, if we only had as much gasoline!”
“Oh, if we only had!”
But ten minutes after that last call Joe again sent forth:
“C.Q.D.! C.Q.D.!”
Then down the receivers traveled a click—not loud, yet unmistakable.
“Where are you? Answer!” came the response, out of the air from some quarter.221
In frantic haste Joe Dawson fell upon his key once more.
Motor yacht “Restless!” Under no power whatever. Gasoline almost gone—saving the last for any emergency chance that comes to us. All canvas blown overboard. Do you get this?
It seemed to frenzied Joe Dawson as though many minutes passed, yet the response came promptly:
Give us your present position, “Restless,” as best you know it!
Joe obeyed with fingers that seemed themselves to be worked by electricity. The receiver of the message repeated Joe’s response, to make sure that it was correct.
“Who are you?” Joe now broke in to answer.
Havana liner, bound north, and, we believe, within thirty miles of you. Have you been signaling long?
“Seems as though I had been signaling for years,” sent back Joe, laughing nervously to himself. The answer came:
We’d heard you before, then, but there was a little mishap to our installation. You keep at your table to send and receive. I’ll do the same at my end. Keep up your courage until we reach you. Be ready to burn Coston lights when we ask you to.