A REPLY IN THE DARK
The young inventor looked out of the wireless shack. Down on the
beach he saw the little band of castaways. They were gathered in a
group about Mr. Jenks, who seemed to be talking earnestly to them.
The two ladies were over near the small building that served as a
kitchen.
"More food supplies needed, eh?" mused Tom. "Well, I don't know
where any more is to come from. We've stripped the WHIZZER bare." He
glanced toward what remained of the airship. "I guess we'll have to
go on short rations, until help comes," and, wondering what the
group of men could be talking about, Tom resumed his clicking out of
his wireless message.
He continued to send it into space for several minutes after ten
o'clock, the hour at which he usually stopped for the morning, for
he thought there might be a possible chance that the electrical
impulses would be picked up by some vessel far out at sea, or by
some station operator who could send help.
But there came no answering clicks to the "E. I." station--to
Earthquake Island--and, after a little longer working of the key,
Tom shut down the dynamo, and joined the group on the beach.
"I tell you it's our only chance," Mr. Jenks was saying. "I must get
off this island, and that's the only way we can do it. I have large
interests at stake. If we wait for a reply to this wireless message
we may all be killed, though I appreciate that Mr. Swift is doing
his best to aid us. But it is hopeless!"
"What do you think about it, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, turning to the
young inventor.
"Think about what?"
"Why Mr. Jenks has just proposed that we build a big raft, and
launch it. He thinks we should leave the island."
"It might be a good idea," agreed the lad, as he thought of the
scant food supply. "Of course, I can't say when a reply will be
received to my calls for aid, and it is best to be prepared."
"Especially as the island may sink any minute," added Mr. Parker.
"If it does, even a raft will be little good, as it may be swamped
in the vortex. I think it would be a good plan to make one, then
anchor it some distance out from the island. Then we can make a
small raft, and paddle out to the big one in a hurry if need be."
"Yes, that's a good idea, too," conceded Tom.
"And we must stock it well with provisions," said Mr. Damon. "Put
plenty of water and food aboard."
"We can't," spoke Tom, quietly.
"Why not?"
"Because we haven't plenty of provisions. That's what I came down to
speak about," and the lad related what Mrs. Nestor had said.
"Then there is but one thing to do," declared Mr. Fenwick.
"What?" asked Captain Mentor.
"We must go on half rations, or quarter rations, if need be. That
will make our supply last longer. And another thing--we must not let
the women folks know. Just pretend that we're not hungry, but take
only a quarter, or at most, not more than a half of what we have
been in the habit of taking. There is plenty of water, thank
goodness, and we may be able to live until help comes."
"Then shall we build the raft?" asked Mr. Hosbrook.
It was decided that this would be a good plan, and they started it
that same day. Trees were felled, with axes and saws that had been
aboard the WHIZZER, and bound together, in rude fashion, with strong
trailing vines from the forest. A smaller raft, as a sort of ferry,
was also made.
This occupied them all that day, and part of the next. In the
meanwhile, Tom continued to flash out his appeals for help, but no
answers came. The men cut down their rations, and when the two
ladies joked them on their lack of appetite, they said nothing. Tom
was glad that Mrs. Nestor did not renew her request to him to get
out the reserve food supply from what remained in the wreck of the
airship. Perhaps Mr. Nestor had hinted to her the real situation.
The large raft was towed out into a quiet bay of the island, and
anchored there by means of a heavy rock, attached to a rope. On
board were put cans of water, which were lashed fast, but no food
could be spared to stock the rude craft. All the castaways could
depend on, was to take with them, in the event of the island
beginning to sink, what rations they had left when the final shock
should come.
This done, they could only wait, and weary was that waiting. Tom
kept faithfully to his schedule, and his ear ached from the constant
pressure of the telephone receiver. He heard message after message
flash through space, and click on his instrument, but none of them
was in answer to his. On his face there came a grim and hopeless
look.
One afternoon, a week following the erection of the wireless
station, Mate Fordam came upon a number of turtles. He caught some,
by turning them over on their backs, and also located a number of
nests of eggs under the warm sands.
"This will be something to eat," he said, joyfully, and indeed the
turtles formed a welcome food supply. Some fish were caught, and
some clams were cast up by the tide, all of which eked out the
scanty food supply that remained. The two ladies suspected the truth
now and they, too, cut down their allowance.
Tom, who had been sitting with the men in their sleeping shack, that
evening, rose, as the hour of ten approached. It was time to send
out the last message of the night, and then he would lie down on an
improvised couch, with the telephone receiver clamped to his ear, to
wait, in the silence of the darkness, for the message saying that
help was on the way.
"Well, are you off?" asked Mr. Damon, kindly. "I wish some of us
could relieve you, Tom."
"Oh, I don't mind it," answered the lad "Perhaps the message may
come to-night."
Hardly had he spoken than there sounded the ominous rumble and
shaking that presaged another earthquake. The shack rocked, and
threatened to come down about their heads.
"We must be doomed!" cried Mr. Parker. "The island is about to sink!
Make for the raft!"
"Wait and see how bad it is," counseled Mr. Hosbrook. "It may be
only a slight shock."
Indeed, as he spoke, the trembling of the island ceased, and there
was silence. The two ladies, who had retired to their own private
shack, ran out screaming, and Mr. Anderson and Mr. Nestor hastened
over to be with their wives.
"I guess it's passed over," spoke Mr. Fenwick.
An instant later there came another tremor, but it was not like that
of an earthquake shock. It was more like the rumble and vibration of
an approaching train.
"Look!" cried Tom, pointing to the left. Their gaze went in that
direction, and, under the light of a full moon they saw, sliding
into the sea, a great portion of one of the rocky hills.
"A landslide!" cried Captain Mentor. "The island is slowly breaking
up."
"It confirms my theory!" said Mr. Parker, almost in triumph.
"Forget your theory for a while, Parker, please," begged Mr.
Hosbrook. "We're lucky to have left a place on which to stand! Oh,
when will we be rescued?" he asked hopelessly.
The worst seemed to be over at least for the present, and, learning
that the two ladies were quieted, Tom started up the hill to his
wireless station. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick went with him, to aid in
starting the motor and dynamo. Then, after the message had been
clicked out as usual Tom would begin his weary waiting.
They found that the earthquake shock had slightly disturbed the
apparatus, and it took them half an hour to adjust it. As there had
been a delay on account of the landslide, it was eleven o'clock
before Tom began sending out any flashes, and he kept it up until
midnight. But there came no replies, so he shut off the power, and
prepared to get a little rest.
"It looks pretty hopeless; doesn't it?" said Mr. Fenwick, as he and
Mr. Damon were on their way back to the sleeping shack.
"Yes, it does. Our signal hasn't been seen, no ships have passed
this way, and our wireless appeal isn't answered. It does look
hopeless but, do you know, I haven't given up yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I have faith in Tom Swift's luck!" declared the eccentric
man. "If you had been with him as much as I have, up in the air, and
under the water, and had seen the tight places he has gotten out of,
you'd feel the same, too!"
"Perhaps, but here there doesn't seem to be anything to do. It all
depends on some one else."
"That's all right. You leave it to Tom. He'll get an answer yet, you
see if he doesn't."
It was an hour past midnight. Tom tossed uneasily on the hard bed
in the wireless shack. The telephone receiver on his ear hurt him,
and he could not sleep.
"I may as well sit up for a while," he told himself, and he arose.
In the dimness of the shack he could see the outlines of the dynamo
and the motor.
"Guess I'll start her up, and send out some calls," he murmured. "I
might just happen to catch some ship operator who is up late. I'll
try it."
The young inventor started the motor, and soon the dynamo was
purring away. He tested the wireless apparatus. It shot out great
long sparks, which snapped viciously through the air. Then, in the
silence of the night, Tom clicked off his call for help for the
castaways of Earthquake Island.
For half an hour he sent it away into space, none of the others in
their shacks below him, awakening. Then Tom, having worked off his
restless fit, was about to return to bed.
But what was this? What was that clicking in the telephone receiver
at his ear? He listened. It was not a jumble of dots and dashes,
conveying through space a message that meant nothing to him. No! It
was his own call that was answered. The call of his station--"E.
I."--Earthquake Island!
"WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT'S WANTED?"
That was the message that was clicked to Tom from somewhere in the
great void.
"I GET YOUR MESSAGE 'E. I.' WHAT'S WANTED? DO I HEAR YOU RIGHT?
REPEAT." Tom heard those questions in the silence of the night.
With trembling fingers Tom pressed his own key. Out into the
darkness went his call for help.
"WE ARE ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND." He gave the longitude and latitude.
"COME QUICKLY OR WE WILL BE ENGULFED IN THE SEA! WE ARE CASTAWAYS
FROM THE YACHT 'RESOLUTE,' AND THE AIRSHIP 'WHIZZER.' CAN YOU SAVE
US?"
Came then this query:
"WHAT'S THAT ABOUT AIRSHIP?"
"NEVER MIND AIRSHIP," clicked Tom. "SEND HELP QUICKLY! WHO ARE YOU?"
The answer flashed to him through space:
"STEAMSHIP 'CAMBARANIAN' FROM RIO DE JANEIRO TO NEW YORK. JUST
CAUGHT YOUR MESSAGE. THOUGHT IT A FAKE."
"NO FAKE," Tom sent back. "HELP US QUICKLY! HOW SOON CAN YOU COME?"
There was a wait, and the wireless operator clicked to Tom that he
had called the captain. Then came the report:
"WE WILL BE THERE WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. KEEP IN COMMUNICATION
WITH US."
"YOU BET I WILL," flashed back Tom, his heart beating joyously, and
then he let out a great shout. "We are saved! We are saved! My
wireless message is answered! A steamer is on her way to rescue us!"
He rushed from the shack, calling to the others.
"What's that?" demanded Mr. Hosbrook.
Tom briefly told of how the message had come to him in the night.
"Tell them to hurry," begged the rich yacht owner. "Say that I will
give twenty thousand dollars reward if we are taken off!"
"And I'll do the same," cried Mr. Jenks. "I must get to the place
where--" Then he seemed to recollect himself, and stopped suddenly.
"Tell them to hurry," he begged Tom. The whole crowd of castaways,
save the women, were gathered about the wireless shack.
"They'll need to hurry," spoke Mr. Parker, the gloomy scientist.
"The island may sink before morning!"
Mr. Hosbrook and the others glared at him, but he seemed to take
delight in his prediction.
Suddenly the wireless instruments hummed.
"Another message," whispered Tom. He listened.
"THE 'CAMBARANIAN' WILL RUSH HERE WITH ALL SPEED," he announced, and
not a heart there on that lonely and desolate island but sent up a
prayer of thankfulness.