Captain Walter
Few moments in any boy’s career have been more dreadfully thrilling than
those immediately following Walter’s catching of the first distress
message from the Herculanea. That there had been a terrible accident
could not be doubted. The first three letters of the message were
well-known “S. O. S.” Then followed a rapid succession of short
sentences, relating what had occurred and giving the location of the
wrecked steamer.
Walter sat at the table in the deck house of the Jetta listening to the
messages almost as rigidly as if he himself had been immersed into an
icy bath and frozen stiff. Not a letter escaped him. No operator,
however skillful, could have dot-and-dashed too rapidly for him now.
Every nerve, every fiber in his body was at its highest tension, and
almost the only cause that could have stolen a word from his listening
ears was the snapping of a vital cord.
Anxiety for the safety of his mother and Guy was the zero temperature
that held him frozen to his chair and to the receivers. As the appeals
and the crisp, snappy descriptions of what had happened came to him, he
pictured the scene rapidly, instinctively, vividly. He saw his mother
and brother on a deck of the steamer, nervously awaiting their fate in
the decision of events. He heard them speak to each other, uttering
words of cheer and fondly remarking about folks at home. He saw the ship
sink lower and lower and the lifeboats descending from the davits.
Of course they were safe unless the sea were too rough for small boats.
And such danger was improbable, for the operator had said nothing about
it in his calls for help. He had said that it was cold, but this was all
the information he had given regarding the weather. Guy saw the
passengers getting into the boats, and then an awful possibility
occurred to him.
Suppose there were not enough boats for all!
The Herculanea was one of the largest steamers in the world and carried
enough passengers to populate a small city. It would require many boats
to accommodate all these. Walter was somewhat reassured when he recalled
that the Titanic disaster had waked up the leading nations of the world
to the necessity of ample lifesaving facilities on all seagoing vessels,
but he could not quite dismiss his fears in this regard.
In the midst of his near-panic of mind, Tony and Det arrived. The latter
was not excited, although Tony had aroused him from his sleep in a
manner that was enough to convince one that a war fleet had arrived from
Mars or the end of the world had come. But he found Walter in an
attitude that caused him to become more than serious, for the radio boy
was just receiving another distress call, coupled with the announcement
that the listing of the ship had rendered it impossible to launch nearly
half the boats, so that many of the passengers would have to seek safety
on rafts.
“What’s all this about?” demanded the old sailor with a kind of awed
sternness.
Walter did not answer at once. He was listening intently. But pretty
soon a short period of silence in the receivers gave him opportunity to
cry out:
“Hasn’t Tony told you? The Herculanea is wrecked—going down. They’re
taking to the boats, and there’s not enough boats for all. There are
only rafts for hundreds of them.”
“You got that message?” inquired the incredulous man. “Where is the
steamer?”
“Off Nova Scotia, four hundred miles from here.”
“You must be crazy! Your little amateur outfit couldn’t receive a
message from away up there.”
“Crazy, am I?” fired back Walter. “That shows how little you know about
wireless telegraphy. This outfit can take any message that any other
outfit can take. I want you to know that I received those messages, and
they are true. Look over this boat as fast as possible and see that
she’s ready to start on a four hundred mile trip in half an hour.”
Det stared at the boy as if he thought him mad. He wondered if he were
not still in his bed and dreaming. He could hardly believe his senses.
But the boy was in dead earnest and could not be handled lightly. He was
in a mood to give commands now, even to the grown and long experienced
Det Teller, and he must be handled like a man.
“If the steamer’s going to sink, it’ll be at the bottom of the ocean
almost before we can get started, let alone running four hundred miles,”
objected Det.
“I don’t care if it’s four thousand miles,” Walter shouted back. Then he
ceased to talk for a few moments while he caught another message. Pretty
soon he spoke again, but now in a pleading tone:
“Det, Det, do get busy. This boat must start as soon as ever we can get
ready. Mother and Guy may have to float in an open boat for days. We
can’t run any unnecessary risks. Other steamers may pick them up, and
then again they may not. Tony, will you go along?”
“Give me time to run and ask pa,” replied the boy addressed.
“I’ll give you half an hour. By that time we’ll be gone, whether you’re
here or not. There’s no time to waste.”
Tony was off like a shot before his friend had finished speaking.
Meanwhile Det was mechanically obeying orders. He could not well do
otherwise. He wished heartily that the boy’s father were at home. He
longed for more authority for such an undertaking. It was a time of the
year when the sea was treacherous, and it was risky business to attempt
such a trip in so small a boat. Moreover, the chances of success were so
few as to render the proposition almost foolhardy in his opinion.
And yet, he dared not take the responsibility of opposing Walter. There
was too much at stake. Surely Mr. Burton would countenance any step,
however hazardous, taken for the purpose of rescuing two members of his
family from so great a peril. If the crew of the Jetta were lost, the
owner would have the consolation of knowing that they died heroes.
Det decided to go. The more he thought over the matter, the less
argument he could offer against the move. He concluded that he would be
branded as a coward and an unfaithful employee of the Burton family if
he showed a disposition to hinder any rescue plan, unless he could offer
a better. He went into the engine room, made a careful survey of the
quarters, found that Walter had made practically all the preparations
necessary, and then returned to the young skipper.
“Everything’s ready,” he announced. “I’m going to the house and tell
Mag, an’ then I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for an answer, he was gone. He ran all the way to the
house, burst into the bedroom where his wife lay, impatiently waiting
his return, and in excited tones and short sentences informed her what
had happened:
“Big steamer wrecked ’way up the coast. Mrs. Burton an’ Guy on board.
We’re goin’ up there in the Jetta. Good-by. We’ll be gone several days.”
“My gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Teller springing out of bed and grabbing
the first article of clothing she could lay her hands on. “Wait, Det;
you’ll have to have something to eat on the way.”
“Shiver my fence posts if I ever thought o’ that,” exclaimed the excited
farmer-sailor, “stopping in his tracks.” “I always said it was a lucky
day when I married you. First I lost my head when I fell in love, then I
ran away ’cause you broke my heart, and since the parson tied the knot
you’ve saved my life forty-’leven times over.”
Mrs. Teller had long since been cured of her early coquettishness and it
was safe enough for her jovial husband to talk in that manner. She was
in no mood to pay any attention to nonsense just now. She loved Mrs.
Burton with the devotion of long and faithful employment, and could
think of nothing but haste and speed in assisting her husband to get
ready.
“You’ll want some money, too,” she added, going to a dresser and turning
on an electric light over it. Then she fished a key out of a button-box
and unlocked and opened a small drawer in the upper part of the dresser.
“Here’s all but ten dollars of last month’s salary,” she said, handing a
roll of bills to her husband. “Take it; you may need it. You may run out
of gasoline and food, and Walter won’t have any money.”
Det took the roll and pinned it in an inside pocket of his vest.
“I’ll have you a bag full of dinner in a jiffy,” she added, as she ran
with stockinged feet, into the kitchen. There she struck a light and
“flew about” in a manner that would have been quite satisfactory to
impatient Walter could he have seen her.
“How’d you get the news?” she asked, seizing a pot of boiled potatoes
she intended to fry for breakfast and dumping them into an empty flour
sack.
Det told her all he knew while she filled two sacks with promiscuous
edibles, including pies, bread, cookies, cold boiled meat, and a smoked
ham.
“There,” she said as she finished; “you take these sacks, and I’ll carry
this basket of apples and this basket of raw potatoes, and we’ll go.”
“You’re not going along, be you?” inquired the amazed husband as he
obeyed instructions.
“No,” she replied, swinging the door open and stepping out. “But I would
if I could. I’ve got to stay with the children.”
Mr. and Mrs. Teller had a son and a daughter. The former was eight years
old and the latter six. Besides these, Jetta Burton was living with them
during the absence of her parents.
When Det and his wife reached the yacht, they met Tony and his father
just arriving on a run. Mr. Lane had been aroused as vigorously by the
story of the wreck and the peril to the two Burtons as Mr. Teller had
been. He offered no objection to his son’s accompanying Walter on his
dash to the rescue, and in a remarkably short time he and Tony were
running down the road toward the yacht’s harbor.
Meanwhile messages had ceased to come from the Herculanea, and Walter
concluded that the electric machinery of the liner was no longer in
operation, if, indeed, the ship had not already gone down. So he left
his instruments and made a hurried survey of the preparations for
departure. Then he assigned Tony to the engine room, for the latter was
almost as well acquainted with the motive power of the yacht as he was,
and asked Det to man the stern line while he backed away from the wharf.
“See that everything’s in good running order,” he called after Tony, as
the latter started for the engine room. “Then you c’n come back on
deck.”
A moment later he was in the pilot house, calling to Det to release the
stern line. After this had been done, he stepped on the starter, threw
the clutch in reverse, and, by holding onto the bowline, forced the
stern away from the wharf. Then he let go his bowline and backed out far
enough to give him complete clearance, after which he reversed his wheel
and threw in the clutch, giving the boat full speed ahead.
Mr. and Mrs. Lane stood on the wharf and watched the yacht till it was
out of sight in the darkness. Presently Tony reappeared on deck with the
report that all was running smoothly in the engine room, after which
there was little conversation on board for some time. Walter was in
possession of a bit of information that he would have been delighted to
communicate to his friends, but he decided that it was better to keep it
to himself for the present. He feared that its revelation might cause
Det and Tony to urge a return home at once, and this he would not
consent to do. The information was indeed of cheering nature, but he did
not wish to let the rescue of his mother and his brother rest on that
alone. Shortly before the operator on the Herculanea ceased to send out
calls for help, Walter caught a message from another steamer, saying
that it was hastening to the scene of the disaster.
But this steamer might be half-way across the Atlantic and might fail to
arrive in time to be of assistance.
“I’ll wait till we’re well on our way before I tell them about it,”
Walter resolved grimly.