JACK’S RADIO
Darkly violet under the light of the dawn-fading stars lay Castle
Island. Cradled in the heaving seas it was watched by scores of anxious
eyes on the _Tropic Queen_, now in her death struggle. The fire room
crew was kept at work only by physical persuasion. The water was gaining
fast now through the jagged wound in the craft’s steel side.
In the soft radiance that precedes the first flush of a tropic dawn, the
two young wireless men, their occupation gone, watched its notched
skyline grow into more definite shape.
As the light grew stronger, they saw that it was a bigger island than
they had supposed. Vast chasms rent the sides of rock-ribbed mountains,
and the place looked desolate and barren to a degree. Suddenly, too,
Jack became aware of something they had not at first noticed.
From the summit of the rocky apex that topped the island, a smudge of
smoke was blurred against the clear sky.
“The volcano!” exclaimed the boys in one breath.
“But I thought it was extinct,” said Sam, in a dismayed voice. The
thought of being in the proximity of an active volcano was anything but
pleasing to him.
“Extinct volcanoes smoke sometimes,” said Jack. “I’ve read of several in
Mexico that do.”
On the bridge, gray-faced from their long vigil, the ship’s officers
clustered about Captain McDonald, watched with anxiety the growing
outlines of the island.
“There are shoals of sand off to the southeast there,” said the captain.
“I was here years ago when I was an apprentice on the old _Abner A.
Jennings_. If we can reach them the old ship will lie easy unless bad
weather comes on.”
The steamer crept slowly forward. She hardly seemed to move, in the
minds of the impatient souls on board her. But at last the water began
to show green under her bows, signifying that she was getting into shoal
waters. On and on she crawled, till she was a scant quarter of a mile
from the mantling cliffs.
It was then that Captain McDonald sent word below to let the stokers
come on deck. It was none too soon. The men were working at pistol point
with water up to their waists, when the word came to evacuate the
stokehold. Even firearms could not have kept them in that water-filled
black pit much longer.
The engines were left running and a short time later, like a tired
child, the _Tropic Queen_ cradled herself in a bed of soft sand and her
voyage was over. An impressive silence hung over the ship as she
grounded, which was not broken till the sharp orders that preceded her
abandonment were issued.
Then all was bustle. The two remaining boats were lowered and the men
sent ashore. At last all that were left on board were the officers and
the two wireless boys. The men had carried ashore provisions and canvas
for tents, and a stream of water that the first arrivals reported near
the landing place, showed them that there was no danger of their going
thirsty.
It was just as Jack and Sam were preparing to get aboard the boat that a
strange thing happened. The tall, slender form of a young woman appeared
on deck. It was Miss Jarrold. An instant later De Garros joined her.
“Why, I thought you were on board the other boats!” exclaimed Captain
McDonald, fairly startled out of his stoic calm.
“Like myself, Mr. De Garros elected to see this thing out,” chimed in
another voice, and there was Colonel Minturn.
“So we stayed below while the other passengers were being taken off,”
said the young aviator, “knowing that if there was any real danger we
would still be able to escape. A shipwreck was too exciting an
experience to miss.”
“Well, if you want to make two fools of yourselves, I can’t stop you,”
said the captain, in slightly nettled tones. “But this young lady. What
is she doing here?”
“Inasmuch as my uncle is a prisoner on this ship, it was my duty to
stand by him,” said the girl, firmly compressing her lips.
“But I specifically ordered that Mr. Jarrold be taken off in one of the
boats,” said the captain, in a bewildered tone.
“Then whoever you gave the orders to disregarded them,” replied the girl
calmly. Then quite in a matter-of-fact voice she added, “Are we going to
camp on that island?”
“Till help comes, yes,” replied the captain. “I will see that you have a
tent and are made as comfortable as possible, but of course you can’t
expect luxuries.”
An hour later they were all on shore. Captain McDonald made an address
to the men, who were quiet and orderly, telling them that the discipline
in the shore camp would be the same as on board the ship, and that later
on a consultation would be held and the best means of getting assistance
decided upon. They had two boats and it was likely that Mr. Metcalf, in
one of them, might be sent to the mainland in quest of aid.
Castle Island was a dismal-looking spot, but the boys decided to make
the best of a bad business and set out, after a mid-day meal of canned
provisions, coffee and crackers, for a walk along the beach. They didn’t
find much of interest, however. In fact they could hardly keep their
eyes off the _Tropic Queen_, lying on the shoals helpless with smokeless
funnels, and listed heavily to port.
It was on the way back to camp that an odd thing happened. Sam was
walking slightly in advance. Suddenly he turned around on Jack: “Say,
what are you doing?” he demanded. “Don’t shove me.”
“I didn’t shove you,” said Jack. “I felt the same thing. I——Gracious,
it’s the earth shaking!”
“Look, look at the volcano!” cried Sam suddenly.
Jack looked up at the towering, gaunt crest miles away, rearing to an
infinite height above them. An immense cloud of yellow, sulphurous
smoke, muddying the blue of the sky, was pouring from it.
The earth shook again sickeningly. White-faced, the boys hastened back
to camp. They found Captain McDonald and the other men trying to quiet
the fears of the crew, who fully believed that before night the volcano
would be in eruption, burying them, maybe, in lava. They succeeded
fairly well, but the men kept their eyes turned to the smoking crest
almost ceaselessly.
Miss Jarrold sat apart in front of her tent with her uncle, whose bonds
had been taken off.
The day wore on and the tremors were repeated from time to time. But
nothing serious occurred. In fact, the marooned party began to grow used
to the shocks. It was arranged that early in the morning, Mr. Metcalf,
with one of the boats and a picked crew, was to set out for the mainland
and summon help.
During the afternoon, to fend off his melancholy thoughts, Jack decided
to write down all that had happened since the eventful voyage of the
lost liner started. He begged some paper from the purser, who gave him a
stack of duplicate manifests. He sat himself down, pencil in hand, and
was beginning to scribble, when he suddenly stopped short and sat
staring at a sheet of paper that had fallen to the ground beside him.
His eyes were centered on an entry at the top of the page. There didn’t
appear to be much about the entry to cause Jack’s pulses to throb with a
wild hope and his heart to beat quicker, but they did. Here is what he
read:
“To Don Jose de Ramon, Electric Supplies, Santa Marta. 10 storage
batteries from Day, Martin & Co., New York.”
Storage batteries!
Jack threw aside his writing and made for the purser.
“Where are those storage batteries for Santa Marta stored?” he asked.
“In hold Number One,” was the reply. “They are on the top of the Santa
Marta cargo.”
“Can they be got at easily?” asked Jack.
“They are among the ‘fragile’ goods,” was the reply, “on the port side
of the hold. They were to be the first things ashore at Santa Marta. But
why do you want to know?”
“Oh, there’s a reason, as the ads. say,” laughed Jack.
That afternoon the two young wireless men spent in long and anxious
consultation. Dark came, and from the volcano a lurid glare lit the sky,
yet no heavy convulsions of the earth occurred. Supper was over and the
sailors, after desperately trying to keep up their spirits by singing,
turned in. Soon the whole camp was wrapped in silence. The only ones
awake were Jack and Sam.
Silently, on the soft sand, the two lads crept from the camp. Around
their waists they wore life belts taken from the boats, which lay on the
sand where they had been pulled up. The inspiration that had come to
Jack when he read that entry on the manifest, was about to be put to the
test.
“You are sure you can swim it, Sam?” asked the boy as the two lads waded
into the water with their eyes fixed on the black hull of the stranded
steamer.
“With this life jacket on I could swim round the Horn,” declared Sam
confidently.
“All right, then, here goes.” Jack struck off into deep water, followed
by Sam.
The water was almost warm and quite buoyant. It was a real pleasure
swimming through it in the moonlight, while at every stroke the
phosphorescence rippled glowingly from their arms and legs. They reached
the ship almost before they knew it, and swam around her till they found
the Jacob’s ladder by which the descent to the boats had been made. They
scrambled up this with the agility of monkeys, and then made their way
along the steeply sloping decks till they reached the wireless room with
its silent instruments. Everything there was in perfect order, except
for “juice” that was needed to wake them to life. And this Jack intended
to have in short order.
Working under his directions, Sam broke into the storeroom where such
supplies were kept by the ship’s electricians, and got two huge coils of
insulated wire. Carrying these, he followed Jack, who bore a lantern, to
Number One hold. It had been broken open at Kingston and the battens had
only been loosely replaced for the run to Santa Marta, so that it was an
easy matter to gain access to the hold.
Down the steep iron ladder they climbed till they stood among high-piled
boxes and bales. Jack flashed his lantern about and at last uttered a
cry of triumph.
“There they are,” he cried, pointing to some big boxes labeled, “Jose de
Ramon, Santa Marta.”
“Now for the test,” chimed in Sam.
The boys attacked the cases vigorously with hatchets they had brought
with them, and soon had the ten powerful storage batteries exposed.
“Now get to work, Sam,” said Jack, producing some pliers and seizing
hold of a coil of wire.