A DERELICT OF THE SKIES
“What a wonderful thing wireless is!” remarked Sam, as the two young
operators stood gazing from the upper deck where their “coop” was
perched.
“Yes, if that flying-boat hadn’t carried even the small, weak equipment
she has, it would have been all off with them,” agreed Jack; “that is,
if they are not at the bottom now.”
“Oh, I hope not!” cried Sam.
“Same here. But still, the sudden way that message cut off looked odd.”
The boys said little more, but kept their attention concentrated,
waiting for the first sharp, quick cry that would announce that the
derelict of the skies had been sighted. It was nerve-racking, the
waiting for that shout.
It seemed that hours had passed, when suddenly there came a sharp bark
from the bows. A keen-eyed salt stationed there had seen something even
before the officers on the bridge had sighted it through their
binoculars.
“What is it, my man?” hailed Captain McDonald through a speaking
trumpet.
“Can’t just make out, sir. It might be a big whale, but it looks to me
like a boat.”
The officers scrutinized the object pointed out through their glasses.
It lay some miles from the ship, spread out darkly on the blue,
gently-heaving sea.
“Can you see any human beings on board it?” demanded Captain McDonald
anxiously of Mr. Metcalf.
“No, sir, I—yes, I do, too. One man. He is standing up, waving.”
“Give me the glasses, Metcalf.”
The captain took the binoculars.
“Yes, you’re right; there’s a man on board. But how long he will keep
afloat, I don’t know. Lucky the sea is calm.”
“You may well say that, sir. In my opinion, whatever he is standing on
is due to sink before long.”
“My opinion, too. But hullo, what is that coming up over the horizon
there?”
“That smoke, sir? That must be the _City of Mexico_.”
“Yes, you’re right, it is. I can see her masts now. She’s coming up
fast.”
“We don’t want to let her beat us, sir.”
“No, indeed; signal below for more speed.”
Mr. Metcalf jerked the engine-room telegraph. A quickened impulse of the
steel hull followed. Inky smoke rolled in volumes from the two funnels
of the big ship. Never had she gone faster. Under the forced draught in
the sweating stokeholds below, the firemen toiled desperately. Steam
screeched from the ’scape pipes in a constant roar, testifying to the
big head of power being carried in the ship’s boilers.
It was a race to thrill the most critical, and a contest of speed, too,
which had, as its goal, a human life; for, from the frantic signals now
being made by the man on the drifting flying-boat, it was plain that he
did not expect to keep above the water much longer.
The _Mexico’s_ wireless man was signaling Jack.
“Hit it up, you _Tropic Queen_.”
“We’re doing nicely, thank you,” came back Jack. “What’s the matter with
your old sea-going smoke wagon?”
In this way the messages between the two on-rushing steamships were
flashed back and forth above the sparkling sea, while the drama of the
race for a life was going forward.
And now the passengers had caught sight of the tiny object adrift on the
vast ocean. A hoarse cheer ascended to the boat decks, in which the
shrill voices of women mingled. They were shouting encouragement and
advice to the castaway of the sky.
He replied by waving. The speed of the ship suddenly was reduced. Under
Quartermaster Schultz a boat crew was made up. Jack begged to be allowed
to be one of them and, to his delight, the captain told him to cut
along.
Sam, although deeply disappointed at being left behind, nevertheless
cheered with the rest as the boat was lowered and struck the water with
a splash. Then, as the steamer’s propellers ground in reverse to check
her way, it dashed off toward the stricken flying-boat.
The craft could be seen quite plainly now—a dainty affair with golden,
shimmering wings supporting a boat-like structure amidships. Jack was
familiar with the general construction of flying-boats, the very latest
type of aëroplane, from pictures he had seen in magazines, but he had
never seen a real one before. He marveled that so frail looking a craft
could have made her way so far out to sea.
But as they neared the stricken airship, shouting words of encouragement
to her lone occupant, a startling thing happened. Simultaneously a groan
burst from the throats of the boat crew.
The flying-boat vanished from the surface of the sea as if she had been
a smudge wiped off a slate with a sponge.