OFF FOR SOUTH AMERICA
“Alone on the wide ocean!”
Such were the words which forced themselves from Bob’s lips as he tried
to pierce the heavy fog which had settled everywhere around him.
An hour had gone by since he had leaped overboard from the Vixen--an
hour which seemed to him to be an age. Where was that craft now, and
where was the Arrow?
“They must have had to give the chase up,” he reasoned, “for the Vixen
could easily give the steam yacht the slip in this terrible fog. Oh, if
only it would lift and let the sun shine once more!”
But this was not to be--instead the fog grew thicker, until it fairly
clung to him like a pall and made him shiver, he knew not why. There
was a coldness in the air to pierce one’s very marrow, but this did not
affect him, for, as we well know, he was used to a low temperature.
Another hour drifted by and still he remained where he was, rising and
falling like a cork on the rolling deep, that precious life preserver
the only thing between the lad and death. What if the preserver should
slip away? But no, it was still tightly strapped up under his arms.
He would have tried to swim to shore, great as was the distance, but
he had become completely bewildered in the fog and knew not which was
north or south, or east or west.
“If I tried swimming I might steer right out into the Atlantic,” he
groaned. “It will be best to keep where I am. This fog is bound to lift
some time.”
But the fog did not lift until after nightfall and then it was as dark
and darker than before, saving for the twinkling stars which shone in
the wide firmament so far over his head. He was now exhausted from the
pounding of the waves and his eyes kept going shut in spite of all he
could do to keep them open.
“I must keep awake, I must keep awake!” he said, over and over again.
“I mustn’t sleep, no, no! If I do I’ll go to the bottom sure!” And then
his head would sink down until the water came up to his mouth when he
would straighten up with a start, only to go through the same actions
again.
At last, when ready to give in to the elements, he made out a
light on the ocean, low down, as if coming from some approaching
vessel. The light kept coming nearer and nearer and then he saw
others--incandescent lights, which could emanate only from the cabin
of some large vessel.
He shouted out as loudly as his enfeebled condition permitted. The
lights came closer, and he shouted again.
“Hullo, who calls?” came from the ship.
“Help! I am drowning!” he replied. “Save me!”
“We will, if we can!” was the reassuring answer, and a few seconds
later a Bengal light flared up, lighting the scene for a hundred yards
around.
“It’s a young man in the water!” Bob heard a somewhat familiar voice
exclaim, and then followed some directions he could not hear.
The ship came closer, and another Bengal light was lit and then to
Bob’s joy he made out the Arrow, with Captain Gordon at the rail,
backed up by several sailors.
“Captain Gordon!” he cried. “Thank heaven! Save me before I go down!”
“By Jove, Bob Baxter!” ejaculated the captain of the Arrow. “Keep up,
we are coming!”
A small boat was lowered with all speed and into it leaped the captain
and two of his men. They were none too soon, for scarcely was Bob
hauled on board than his nerves gave way completely and he sank on the
bottom, limp and motionless.
Barry had gone to bed, to get some much-needed rest, but as soon as he
heard the commotion he arose and demanded to know what was up.
“The captain has picked up Bob Baxter,” answered the cabin boy, a lad
by the name of Paul Ferris.
“Bob! Is it possible!” burst from Barry’s lips, and then he hopped into
his clothing with all speed. He met the captain and the others bringing
Bob down the companionway.
“How is he?” he asked, anxiously.
“All right, only tuckered out,” answered the captain.
Restoratives were applied and later on Bob was given some warm food,
and then he felt almost as well as ever.
Barry and Captain Gordon listened to his tale with close attention,
and then the owner of the Arrow had to tell how he had followed up the
trail, but how the Vixen had slipped them in the fog.
“He’s a daring rascal,” said Barry, referring to Captain Fenlick.
“Yes, and the worst of it is, he has got the red book,” added Bob.
“It’s a wonder to me he didn’t leave you behind--after he had gotten
the book away from you.”
“I overheard him tell Basker, his tool, that he wanted me to explain
certain matters in the book.”
“I see.”
“Have you any idea where he has gone?”
“Not the slightest. We were cruising around hoping to get on to his
trail again.”
The talk continued for the best part of an hour, but it brought forth
nothing new, and presently Barry retired again, and Bob also went to
rest, thankful that he could do so on a comfortable bed and not at the
bottom of the ocean.
The morning came bright and clear, and the two chums were enjoying a
late breakfast when Captain Gordon announced a ship off the port bow.
“She’s a sailing schooner,” he said. “Shall I hail her and ask her if
she has seen anything of the Vixen?”
“By all means,” answered Barry. “I’ll be up as soon as I finish this
omelet.”
The schooner was signalled and soon the two craft ran side by side.
“Seen anything of a tramp steamer painted black with a yellow stripe?”
shouted Captain Gordon, through his trumpet.
“Yes, saw her a couple o’ hours ago,” answered the man in command of
the fishing schooner.
“Whither bound?”
“Due south, I reckon, an’ going ahead at full steam. Come nigh on to
running us down, drat ’em!”
“Thanks, that’s all.”
“S’long!” and then the vessels parted and the captain ordered the Arrow
ahead at full speed.
The day went by slowly and it was not until almost nightfall that they
came in sight of the Vixen. The tramp steamer was hardly seen when
darkness closed in on both vessels.
“But I don’t care--I’ve got his course,” declared Captain Gordon. “He
can’t slip me unless he makes a big tack, and I don’t think he’ll do
that, since he don’t know we are after him again.”
The night passed and the next day, and still they found themselves
unable to catch up with the Vixen, although they had the big vessel in
sight several times. The reason they could see the Vixen was because
Barry owned an extra powerful marine glass and used it from the
standing top of the yacht’s mainmast. To Captain Fenlick the Arrow was
invisible, yet he kept to his course southward with all speed.
Barry had learned before leaving Philadelphia that the Vixen was loaded
with a valuable cargo for Pernambuco, and he now made up his mind that
the tramp steamer was heading almost directly for that Brazilian port.
“And how far is that from here?” asked Bob.
The young owner of the Arrow smiled.
“About five thousand miles.”
“Gee whiz! As far as that?”
“Yes, and more than that by the course we will have to take.”
“It will be a long journey--if you really follow the craft.”
“She can sail directly for Pernambuco, Bob, but we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Our coal won’t hold out. We’ll have to stop at Porto Rico for a fresh
supply, and most likely at Cayenne, too. That will break the trip into
three parts.”
“And how long will it take us to reach Pernambuco?”
“A month or more. It will depend a good bit on the weather.”
“Well, they can’t do much better in nasty weather than we can.”
“A little better perhaps--if the waves run high--but not much.”
Two days later they sighted the Vixen again, bearing away to the
southeastward, past a number of small islands to the north of the West
Indies.
“Yes, she’s bound for South America beyond a doubt,” said Barry. “And
Captain Fenlick is going to make the best of his time, too.”
As the steam yacht sped southward it grew warmer, much to Bob’s
discomfort, who now wore next to nothing.
“I’ll be stewed, I reckon, before I get past the equator,” he grumbled.
“Never felt so hot in my life before!”
“You remember what I said,” laughed Barry. “If you get too warm you can
crawl into the cook’s ice-box.”
The days slipped by until they began to approach the northeastern coast
of Porto Rico. Then came an unusually hot night, followed by a clouding
up of the sky which completely cut off the sunrise.
“We are up against a storm now,” observed Captain Gordon. “And when it
comes I allow it will be a hummer!”
The captain was right. It soon began to blow, in fitful gusts at first
and then a gale, which speedily became a hurricane. All of the ports
were tightly closed and also the hatches.
As the storm increased, so did the thunder and lightning, until to the
two chums it was as if the artillery of the heavens had broken loose.
Both remained on deck in spite of the protestations of the captain of
the Arrow.
“You can’t do any good here,” expostulated Captain Gordon. “Better go
below--it’s safer.”
“Perhaps,” answered Barry. “But I----”
He got no farther, for just then came a blinding flash of lightning
and a sickening crash, which hurled Bob, Barry, and the captain flat on
their backs. The Arrow had been struck and the electricity was playing
all over her polished deck!