HELPLESS IN THE NORTHEASTER!
"I've already thought of that," nodded Powell Seaton.
"And it doesn't worry you, sir--doesn't make you anxious?" questioned
Captain Tom Halstead.
"No. Of course, Dalton might cable the full contents of the papers. If
the paper could fall only into Governor Terrero's hands it would be
well worth the cable tolls. But if such a cablegram were sent, openly,
to Terrero, or one of his representatives, it would have to go, first
of all, through the hands of the Government officials who have charge
of the cable."
"But couldn't Terrero fix that?" asked Halstead.
"No; Rio is out of his state, and beyond the sphere of his strongest
influence. Now, if I were to land in Rio Janeiro, I would be arrested
on a warrant issued by Terrero's judges, up in the state of Vahia, and
I would have to go to Vahia for trial. Undoubtedly Terrero's rascally
officers would shoot me on the way, and report that I had tried to
escape."
"Then what harm could it do to Terrero's chances for Dalton to send
him the cablegram direct?"
"Why, either the cable officials in Rio are very great rascals, or
else they are honest officials. If they are rascals, they might hold
the cablegram long enough to act for themselves on the information it
contained. On the other hand, if they are honest officials, then they
would undoubtedly notify the Government of such a stupendous piece of
news. The Government would then very likely take charge of my diamond
field itself, which would be wholly legal, for the Government already
owns many, if not the greater number, of the producing diamond fields
of that country. So, if the Government, acting on information from its
cable officials, took possession of the news and of the diamond field,
what good would the cablegram do Governor Terrero? No; you may be very
sure that Dalton won't send the contents of the papers by cablegram.
He undoubtedly has the strongest orders from Terrero against doing
that."
"I feel better, then," Tom admitted. "For the moment it came over me,
like a thunderbolt, that Dalton might nip all our work in the bud by
sending a cablegram. Still, couldn't he send it by code?"
"No; for only the ordinary codes can go through the Brazilian cable
offices, and the Government officers have the keys to all the codes
that are allowed. Rest easy, Halstead; Dalton won't attempt to use the
cable."
"Then, if he doesn't get aboard the 'Glide,' we'll beat him out to
Brazil--that's the surest thing in the world!" cried Tom, with as much
enthusiasm as though the great fortune at stake were his own.
They were still following in the wake of the "Glide." Once in a while
Dick Davis or Ab Perkins had the operator on the freighter flash back
a wireless message of a friendly, personal nature. Joe answered all
these.
For thirty-six hours this pleasant stern-chase lasted. By night the
helmsman of the "Restless" kept the searchlight enough in use to make
sure that the drab boat did not appear.
"Dalton and Lemly lost the 'Glide,' if they were looking for her, in
the fog," chuckled Halstead, in huge satisfaction. "Any Rio-bound boat
they can catch now is hopelessly to the rear of the 'Glide,' I
reckon."
Joe, by wiring back, and asking other wireless vessels to relay, from
time to time, had ascertained that there was no other steam vessel,
bound for Rio, in close pursuit.
Mr. Seaton took his trick at the wheel occasionally. So did Hepton.
Joe gave most of his time to the wireless installation, though he
maintained charge of the motors, Hank doing most of the work there.
All had sleep enough during the cruise south. Joe used some of his
spare time in carrying out his former plan of connecting the wireless
table with the helmsman by means of a speaking tube.
They were well down the coast of Florida when even anxious Powell
Seaton declared that there was no need of cruising longer in the wake
of the "Glide." He felt certain that the freighter had entirely eluded
the vigilance of those on board the drab boat.
By this time the supply of gasoline was nearly out. Tom had cautioned
the charter-man that so long a run would use up about the last of
their oil. There was, however, a small sail fitted to the signal mast.
Now, when the crew of the "Restless" turned back, the sail was hoisted
and power shut off.
"We've oil enough to run perhaps three-quarters of an hour, sir," the
young skipper explained. "We'll have to use that up in making port
when we get in sight."
Sailing aboard the "Restless" proved lazy work at the outset. With
this small sail there was not wind enough to carry the boat at much
more than two miles per hour on her northwest course for the nearest
Florida town where gasoline was likely to be had.
"We'll have a jolly long sail of it," laughed Skipper Tom, "unless the
wind should freshen."
"Well, we don't care," smiled Mr. Seaton. "At least, you won't be
overworked. And our minds are easier--mine especially."
"All of us have easier minds," Halstead retorted. "Don't you
understand, sir, that the rest of us have taken this whole business to
heart? We couldn't be more concerned than we are to see the affairs of
our charter parties come through all right."
"Oh, I believe that," nodded Powell Seaton. "You boys have been the
strongest sort of personal friends to me in my troubles. You couldn't
possibly have made my affairs, and my dangers, more thoroughly your
own troubles."
Two hours later a wireless message came back from the "Glide." It was
from Dick Davis, and couched in vague terms, but meant to inform those
aboard the "Restless" that the drab seventy-footer was still out of
sight. An hour after that a second message reached the motor boat.
Soon after the "Restless" found herself unable to answer, though still
able to receive.
"Hank, are you feeling particularly strong to-day?" inquired Mr.
Seaton.
"I'm always strong, sir," replied the young steward.
"Then why not rack your pantry stores in order to supply the biggest
thing in a meal for all hands this evening? I feel more like eating
than I have any day in a month."
"You'd have to go to a sure-enough number-one hotel to find a better
meal than I'll put up for this evening," retorted Hank, grinning
gleefully, as he started for the galley.
In such lazy weather Tom Halstead felt that he could go below for a
nap, especially as Joe was around. Hepton was left at the wheel. Tom
speedily closed his eyes in one of the soundest naps he had enjoyed in
many a day. He was awakened by Hank, who came into the stateroom and
shook him by the shoulder.
"Weather's all right, up to now," Butts informed the young captain.
"Still, we don't like the looks of the sky, and the barometer is
beginning to show signs of being eccentric. Won't you come up on deck
for a minute, anyway?"
Tom was out of his berth in a twinkling. There was enough of the
sea-captain in him for that. The instant he reached the deck his gaze
swept around anxiously, inquiringly, at the sky.
"The clouds up on the northeast horizon don't look exactly friendly,
do they?" he inquired of Joe.
"Don't know," replied Dawson. "Haven't seen enough of them yet."
"I'm thinking you will, soon," replied Halstead. "How's the wind
been?"
"From the east, sir," replied Hepton, who was at the wheel.
"It's working around to northeast, now," muttered Halstead. "And it
was almost from the south when I turned in."
Tom stood by the barometer, watching it.
"Trouble coming," he said, briefly.
Within half an hour his prediction began to be verified. The darkish,
"muddy" clouds first seen on the northeast horizon were looming up
rapidly, the wind now driving steadily from that quarter. Even with
all the smallness of her single sail the "Restless" was heeling over
considerably to port.
"Lay along here, Hank, and help me to put a double reef in the sail,"
Tom ordered. "I don't want this little bit of canvas blown away from
us."
As Tom called, he eased off the sheet, and Hepton lounged away from
the wheel.
"Too bad," muttered Hank Butts. "We've been making a good four knots
since the wind freshened."
"I'm out of a guess if there isn't a wind coming that'd take a sail
out of its fastenings in ten seconds," rejoined Halstead, working
industriously with the reeves.
A light squall struck them before the boys had finished their task.
"A September northeaster along this coast is no laughing matter, from
all I've heard of it," Tom explained as the two boys took the last
hitches. "Now, come on, Hank. We'll hoist her."
With long rhythmic pulls at the halyards Tom and Butts got the
shortened sail up, making all secure.
"You'd better take the wheel, Joe," sang out the young skipper.
"Hepton, stand by to give a hand if the helm moves hard."
"You seem rather excited over a pleasant breeze like this," observed
Powell Seaton.
"Wait," said Tom, quietly. "I only hope I am taking too much
precaution. I've never handled a boat along the Florida coast before,
you know, sir, so it's best to err on the side of caution."
Hank was sent off on the jump, now, to make everything secure, while
Skipper Tom took his place on the bridge deck at starboard to watch
the weather.
"I guess there'll be time, now, Hank, to rig life lines on the bridge
deck," hinted Halstead, coolly. "Never mind about any aft. Whoever
goes below can go through the motor room."
Catching a look full of meaning in the young commander's eye, Butts
hustled about his new task.
"You seem to be making very serious preparations," suggested Powell
Seaton, seriously.
"Nothing like being a fool on the wise side," answered Skipper Tom,
calmly.
Within ten minutes more the wind had freshened a good deal, and the
"Restless" was bending over considerably to port, running well,
indeed, considering her very small spread of canvas.
Now, the sky became darker. The weather was like that on shore in
autumn when the birds are seen scurrying to cover just before the
storm breaks.
"I reckon there's going to be something close to trouble, after all,"
observed Powell Seaton, when it became necessary for him to hold his
hat on.
Tom nodded in a taciturn way, merely saying:
"If you're going to stay on deck, Mr. Seaton, you'd better put on a
cap, or a sou'wester."
Mr. Seaton started below, through the motor room. While he was still
there the gale struck, almost without further warning.
"Watch the wind and ease off a bit, Joe," bawled Skipper Halstead in
his chum's ear.
Joe Dawson nodded slightly. The gale was now upon them with such fury
that making one's self heard was something like work.
Despite the prompt easing by the helm, the "Restless" bowled over a
good deal as the crest of the first in-rolling wave hit her.
Powell Seaton, a cap on his head, appeared at the motor room hatchway.
Tom motioned him to remain where he was.
Clutching at the rail, Tom Halstead kept his face turned weatherward
most of the time. He knew, now, that a fifty-five-foot boat like the
"Restless," weather-staunch though she was, was going to have about
all she could do in the sea that would be running in a few minutes
more.
Nor did he make any mistake about that. A darkness that was almost
inky settled down over them. Bending through the hatchway, the young
sailing master yelled to Powell Seaton to switch on the running
lights.
"For we'll need 'em mighty soon, if we don't now," Captain Tom added.
Hank reappeared with rain-coats, and with his own on. Hardly had those
on deck so covered themselves when, accompanied by a vivid flash of
lightning and a crashing peal of thunder, the rain came down upon
them. At first there were a few big drops. Then, the gale increasing,
the rain came in drenching sheets. The decks began to run water,
almost choking the scuppers.
The heeling of the "Restless" was no longer especially noticeable. She
was rolling and pitching in every direction, accompanied by a
straining and creaking of timbers.
Powell Seaton, standing below, clutching for support, and not much of
a sailor at best, began to feel decidedly scared.
"Are we going to be able to weather this, Captain Halstead?" he yelled
up, as the young skipper paused close by the hatchway.
Though the noise of the now furious gale prevented Tom from making out
the words very clearly, he knew, by instinct, almost, what had been
asked of him.
"Weather the gale, sir?" Tom bawled down, hoarsely. "Of course! We've
got to!"
There was a new sound that made the young sailing master jump, then
quiver. With a great tearing and rending the single canvas gave way
before the roaring gale. In a trice the sail was blown to fluttering
ribbons!