The Motor Boat Club and The Wireless Part 32

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 time pa.s.sed, 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 manoeuvre 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.

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 pa.s.sed, 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.

Then how fast Joe Dawson managed to talk up through the speaking tube!

Tom Halstead, after first announcing the great news to the deck with a wild cheer, put Hank at the wheel and hurried below. Shortly, however, the young skipper was back on deck, bearing the wonderful news.

In smooth weather the Havana liner, ordinarily a fifteen-knot boat, would have reached them in two hours. Under the weather conditions of this wild night it was much later when the two craft were within hailing distance by signal lights. Hank was now in command of the deck, Skipper Tom and Powell Seaton being with Joe.

"Shall we try to send you a line for a tow?" came the demand from the liner.

"Yes," replied Halstead. Then, with a grimace he added:

"But the salvage charge for such a tow will call for more than we can raise, Joe, old fellow. I reckon the 'Restless' will have to be put up for sale to pay her own bills."

"Do you think I'd let you boys stand the towing charges?" demanded Powell Seaton, indignantly. "Whatever charges there are are mine to pay, and I'm at least good for the entire purchase price of a few boats like even this good little old salt water wizard!"

Tom soon afterwards made his way to the deck, but Mr. Seaton, weak and almost ill after the hours of anxiety, threw himself upon a cus.h.i.+oned seat near the wireless sending table.

As Tom stood on the bridge deck he studied the liner's lights as that larger craft manoeuvred in to the leeward of the motor craft.

Once she had gained this position at a sufficient distance to make any collision on this wild sea unlikely, the liner steamed ahead.

"Stand ready to receive our line!" came to Joe in clicks through the watch-case receivers over either ear. He swiftly transmitted the order through the speaking tube to Halstead on the bridge.

Then the liner burned another light. Tom answered with one held in his own hand. It was the signal to look for the line, and the answer.

Through the darkness came a sudden, red flash from the after deck of the liner. The wind was so heavy that those on the bridge deck of the "Restless" could not be sure that they heard the report of the gun.

But a missile whizzed over their heads, and to this blessed projectile trailed a thin line that fell across the top of the cabin deck.

Tom and Hank made a simultaneous bolt to get hold of that line. It was young b.u.t.ts who secured it. He pa.s.sed it on to the young captain, and, together, they leaped to the bridge-deck with it. From there they crawled forward over the raised deck, slipping the line, at last, between the two raised ends of the towing bitt.

"Now, haul in with a will," glowed the young skipper, as they crept back to the bridge-deck. A great wave swept over them on their way back. Tom saw it coming, and braced himself. Hank was caught by the rush of waters; he would have been swept overboard, but Halstead grabbed at one of his ankles, holding on grimly.

At that moment the late prisoner, Jasper, saw what was happening.

Projecting himself forward over the raised deck, he, too, caught hold of Hank b.u.t.ts, while Powell Seaton held to Jasper.

It was a sort of human chain by which Hank was pulled to safety. Tom, throughout the excitement, held the "thin line" in one hand.

"Haul in this thin line, quickly," shouted the young commander, who could barely make himself heard above the tumult of the gale.

As the line was some four hundred feet long, it used up precious moments to haul it and coil up the slack. As the last of the "thin line" came into their hands there came with it the first of a stouter hawser, the two lines being knotted securely together.

"Hold on to me, now! Form a chain again," ordered Skipper Tom. "I'll make the hawser fast forward."

All this while the Havana liner, some four hundred feet away, was going through a complicated bit of manoeuvering under the hands of her officers. Alternately she moved at half-speed-ahead, at stop, or on the reverse, in order that, despite the high-rolling waves, she might not go too far ahead and snap the thin line. But now young Halstead soon had a stout hitch about the towing bitt at the bow. A few more turns, then he signaled to those behind holding him to help him back to the bridge deck. A dozen great waves had rolled over him on that smooth raised deck, but the members of the human chain hauled him back to safety.

"Signal to our friends that they can apply full speed ahead, Joe, if they want to," directed the young motor boat captain, briefly, as he reached the comparative safety of the bridge deck once more.

Over the noise of the gale the answering blast from the liner's whistle came to them as a far-away sound. But now the big boat ahead started on at a ten-knot speed.

"Gracious, but this seems good, once more!" glowed Tom Halstead, taking over the wheel as the towing hawser tautened and the "Restless"

began to move forward under a headway that could be controlled and directed.

"We couldn't have stood this racket much longer, without a tow,"

chattered Joe. "I've had moments at the wheel, to-night, when, on account of our helplessness, I've felt sure we were going to 'turn turtle.'"

"What ails your jaws, old fellow?" demanded Tom, looking curiously at his chum. "Say, you're shaking to pieces, and I don't wonder. Get below and get dry and warm. Get below all of you, except one to stand by me. Who can best remain on deck for a few minutes more?"

"I can," proposed Jasper, starting forward with an odd mixture of sullenness and eagerness in his tone.

"I'll trust you--now," nodded Captain Halstead, after eyeing the man keenly. "The rest of you get below. We want a few dry folks aboard."