THE STORMY PETREL GETS AN ANSWER
The dash of rain which beat like a volley of lead upon the fuselage of
the seaplane as she rose above the spray lasted but a moment.
"Just a warning of what's to come," Vincent called through the tube.
"Think we could run away from the storm?"
"We'd just get lost on the ocean and not know what location to
radiophone," grumbled his companion. "Better keep circling. We can get
above the storm if we must."
Once more the weary circle was commenced. With little hope of sighting
land, Vincent still fixed his gaze upon the black waters below, while he
sent the flash of light, now far to the right, now to the left, and now
straight beneath them.
"Someone must have caught our S. O. S." he told himself. "We ought to
get sight of their lights pretty soon. But then," his hopes grew faint,
"not many ships in these seas. Might not have heard us. Might not be
able to reach us. Might--"
He broke off abruptly. A blinding flash of lightning had illumined the
waters for miles in every direction. In that flash his eyes had seen
something; at least, he thought they had; some craft away to the left of
them; a craft which reminded him of one he had sailed upon many a time;
his father's yacht, the _Kittlewake_.
"But of course it couldn't be," he told himself. "Nobody'd be crazy
enough to--"
A second flash illumined the water, but this time, strain his eyes as he
might, he caught no glimpse of craft of any sort.
"Must have dreamed it," he muttered. He closed his eyes for a second and
in that second saw his sister Gladys clearly mirrored on his mind's
vision. She was staggering down a pitching deck.
"Huh!" he muttered, shaking himself violently, "this business is
getting my goat. I'll be delirious if I don't watch out."
Again he fixed his gaze upon the spot of light as it traveled over the
water.
He had kept steadily at the task for fifteen minutes, was wondering how
much longer the gas would hold out, wondering, too, whether the storm
was ever going to break, when he caught the pilot's signal in the tube.
"How about trying another message?" his companion called.
"Up here?" he asked in dismay.
"I know--awful dangerous. But we've got to risk something. Lost if we
don't."
"All right, I'll try." He began cautiously to unbuckle his harness.
Scarcely had he loosened two of the three straps which held him in place
when the plane gave a sudden lurch. Having struck a pocket, it dropped
like an elevator cage released from its cable, straight down.
"Oh--ah!" he exclaimed as he caught at a rod just in time to escape
being hurled away.
"Got to be careful," he told himself, "awful careful! Have to hold on
with one hand while I work with the other. Feet'll help too."
When the plane had settled again, he loosened the last strap, then began
with the utmost caution to drag himself to the surface of the plane
above him.
Once a vivid flash of lightning showed him the dizzy depths beneath him.
He was at that moment clinging to a rod with both hands. His legs were
twined about a second. Thus he hung suspended out over two thousand feet
of air and as many fathoms of water.
For a moment a dizzy sickness overcame him, but this passed away. Again
he struggled to gain the platform above. This time he was successful.
Even here he did not abandon caution. The straps were still about his
waist. One of these he fastened to a rod. Then with one hand he clung to
the framework before him, while with the other he worked at the task of
adjusting instruments.
"Slow business," he murmured. "Maybe it won't work when I get through.
Maybe too damp. Maybe it--"
Suddenly he found himself floating in air, like the tail of a kite. Only
the strap and his viselike grip saved him. The plane had struck another
pocket.
He was at last thrown back upon the platform with such force as dashed
the air from his lungs and a large part of his senses from his brain.
After a moment of mental struggle he resumed his task. He worked
feverishly now. The fear that he might be seriously injured before he
had completed it had seized him.
"Now," he breathed at last, "now we'll see!"
His hand touched a switch. The motor buzzed.
"Ah! She works! She works!" he exulted.
Then with trembling fingers he sent out the signal of distress. He
followed this with their location, also in code. Three times he repeated
the message. Then snapping on his receiver, he strained his ear to
listen.
"Ah!--" his lips parted. He was getting something. Was it an answer? He
could scarcely believe his ears. Yet it came distinctly:
"Yacht _Kittlewake_, Curlie--"
Just at that moment the plane gave a sickening swerve. Caught off his
balance, the boy was thrown clear off the platform. The receiver
connection snapped. He hung suspended by the single strap. Madly his
hands flew out to grasp at the pitching rods. Just in time he seized
them; the strap had broken.
With the agility of a squirrel he let himself down to his old place
behind his companion. To buckle on the remaining straps was the work of
a moment. Then, in utter exhaustion and despair, he allowed his head to
sink upon his chest.
"And I was getting--getting an answer," he gasped.
His companion had seen nothing of his fall. Glancing behind him for a
second, he saw Vincent in his seat in the fuselage.
"What'd you come down for?"
"Got shaken down."
"Get anything?"
"Was getting. Queer thing that! Got the name of my father's yacht and
the word 'Curly.' Then the plane lurched and spilled me off. Jerked the
receiver off too. Queer about that message! Thought I saw the
_Kittlewake_ on the sea a while ago, but then I thought it couldn't
be--thought I was getting delirious or something."
"Going back up?"
"I--I'll--In a moment or two I'll try."
A few moments later he did try, but it was no use. His nerve was gone.
His knees trembled so he could scarcely stand. His hands shook as with
the palsy. It is a terrible thing for a climber to lose his nerve while
in the air.
"No use," he told himself. "I'd only get shaken off again and next time
I'd be out of luck. Shame too, just when I was getting things."
Again he caught his companion's call.
"Storm's almost here! Guess we'll have to climb."
Even as he spoke, there came a flash of lightning which revealed a solid
black bank of clouds which seemed a wall of ebony. It was moving rapidly
toward them; was all but upon them.
"Better climb; climb quick," he breathed through the tube.