S. O. S.
Dawn showed a smudge of black smoke on the far horizon which might or
might not have been the mysterious visitant of the night. At any rate,
by noon something occurred which quite put out of Jack’s mind, and those
of the ship’s officers, who were considerably exercised over the
midnight signals, all thoughts of the secretive craft.
To Jack, seated at his instruments, there had suddenly come a sharp
call:
“S.O.S.—S.O.S.—S.O.S.”
Coming as it did, like a bolt from the blue, the urgent call thrilled
the young operator. He galvanized into action instantly and sent Sam
scurrying to the bridge with word that the most urgent call that can
assail a wireless man’s ears had just come to him.
It was faint and far away, but that very fact made it evident to Jack’s
experienced mind that whoever was sending the message, was in dire
straits and running out of current.
He pressed his key and sent thundering out with all the volleying force
of his powerful dynamos, an answer.
“What ship are you?” he demanded.
The answer that came back almost knocked him out of his chair.
“The airship _Adventurer_, from New Orleans to Havana. We are on the
surface of the water and sinking rapidly.”
“Your position, quick!” demanded Jack.
Back through space, in a slowly dying wireless voice, came the latitude
and longitude of the luckless craft.
“You are on our course. Stand by and we will pick you up,” said Jack,
whom a rapid glance at the wall map had shown that, roughly, the sinking
air-craft was not more than twenty miles to the southwest of the _Tropic
Queen’s_ position.
“What has happened?” asked Jack.
“No time explain details. Hurry! Hurry!——”
Jack tried to get the unseen operator once more, but a silence that was
far more eloquent than words alone greeted his efforts. He turned to see
the captain, in his white uniform and gold-laced cap, standing behind
him.
“What is this S.O.S., Ready?” he demanded. “What craft is in distress?”
“An airship, sir. The _Adventurer_, bound from New Orleans for Havana,
Cuba.”
“By Neptune! I recall now reading that two aviators were going to make
such a foolhardy attempt.”
“What kind of an air-craft is she, sir? Do you recall?”
“Why, one of those flying-boats, as they are called, I believe.”
“A big aëroplane fitted with a boat’s hull?”
“That’s the idea. But did they give you their position?”
Jack handed over the figures.
“Here they are, sir. But the current from the drifting airship was so
weak that I cannot be absolutely certain as to their accuracy.”
“Well, we’ll have to take them for what they are worth,” said the
captain, scanning them.
“Roughly, they are on our course, sir,” ventured Jack.
“Yes, we can almost make a landfall on them if you got the positions
right. I’ll have full speed ahead signaled. Poor fellows, their plight
must be desperate!”
He hastened off to give the necessary orders, while Jack went back to
his instruments; but, although he tried with all his might to get
another whisper, he could hear nothing.
Either the wrecked airship had gone to the bottom, or else, water having
reached her storage batteries, she could no longer send out word.
But Jack raised another ship,—the _City of Mexico_ of the Vera Cruz
line.
“What’s biting you?” the flippant operator inquired.
“Just got word that a wrecked airship is floating about on the sea,”
flashed back Jack, and gave the latitude and longitude.
“Why, we’ll be there almost as soon as you,” was the reply.
“All right, let’s make it a race,” called Jack. “It is one for a good
cause.”
“Surest thing you know. See you later.”
The _City of Mexico’s_ wireless man cut off. The third officer came into
the wireless room.
“Ready, the old man wants you to make out a bulletin for the passengers.
They’ll go wild over this.”
Jack quickly typed off a bulletin.
“Shortly before noon, in communication with wrecked and drifting
flying-boat _Adventurer_. She is about twenty miles to the Southwest.
We are hurrying at top speed to her assistance and should be there in
a little over an hour’s time.
“Ready, Chief Operator, _S. S. Tropic Queen._”
The excitement that followed the posting of this notice on the bulletin
board at the head of the saloon stairs may be imagined by those who have
passed long, dreamy, uneventful days at sea, when even the sight of a
distant sail provides all manner of topics of conversation.
But now they were steaming at top speed toward the hulk of a
flying-boat—that is, provided she was still on the surface. The ship
buzzed and hummed with vibrant excitement. Passengers lined the rails,
and some of the more excitable even tried to swarm into the rigging,
from which exalted positions they were swiftly ejected.
Black smoke poured from the _Tropic Queen’s_ funnels, and the speed of
her accelerated engines caused a humming vibration to run through her
frame like the twanging of a taut fiddle string. On the bridge,
white-uniformed officers stood, with glasses in hand, all on the alert
to catch the first black speck on the sparkling sea which might reveal
the location of the wrecked air adventurers.
Forward, on the forepeak and in the crow’s nest, lookouts had been
doubled. And excitement was added to the race to the rescue when it
became known that the _City of Mexico_ was speeding from the southward
on the same errand of mercy.