THE DERELICT
The inspection of the distant craft by Captain Springer was long and
attentive, and the boys watched him breathlessly.
“Looks to me as though she were abandoned,” he said, at last,
lowering the glasses. “No sign of life about her, and she’s
wallowing in the trough of the sea. See what you make of her,
Lieutenant.”
The first officer subjected the vessel to as keen and long-continued
an examination as had his superior.
“If there are people on her, they’re either sick or dead,” was his
conclusion. “From her build, I should take her to be a British ship.
Tramp steamer, like enough, plying between Halifax and one of the
British ports. There’s no signal of distress flying. Probably the
crew have left her.”
The captain and lieutenant consulted for a few minutes, and then
some orders were given, and the _Meteor_ changed her course and made
straight toward the vessel.
The Radio Boys stayed where they were, their eyes glued on the
distant speck that soon revealed itself to their unaided eyes as a
steamer, which they judged was about three hundred feet in length.
Here, at the very outset of their cruise, was a mystery, and they
were eager to be in at its unfolding.
As the _Meteor_ drew nearer, the boys’ eyes scanned the vessel from
stem to stern, looking for some sign of life.
“Doesn’t seem to be a soul on board,” remarked Joe.
“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Bob, whose eyes were the keenest
of any of the party. “Seems to me I saw a head pop up over the rail
toward the stern just now. There it is again. By ginger, it’s a
dog!”
They followed the direction of his pointing finger, but could see
nothing.
“Guess you’re dreaming,” said Herb, skeptically.
“No, I’m not,” asserted Bob, emphatically. “There! I caught a
glimpse of it again. It’s some poor brute that they had no room for
in the boats, and so they had to leave him behind.”
“Well, we’ll know in a few minutes whether you’re right,” said Joe,
“for the boat’s slowing up now and probably they’ll send over a
party to find out all about it. Gee, how I wish we could go with
them!”
Captain Springer happened to be passing just then, and heard the
remark.
“I guess that can be arranged,” he said. “You boys can pack
yourselves in small in the stern of the boat I’m going to send
over.”
“That will be fine!” Bob answered for them. “Thank you, oh, very
much!”
The _Meteor_ slowed up when she was a few hundred feet away from the
helpless vessel, keeping up just enough steam to give her
steerageway, and a boat, manned by Lieutenant Milton and a crew of
six, and into which the Radio Boys also went in accordance with the
captain’s permission, was let down into the water.
The sailors bent to the oars and the little boat sped swiftly across
the dancing waters.
As they approached, the conviction grew upon them that the ship had
no human occupants. A stillness as of death hung over it. No steam
came from the engine pipes, no smoke from the funnels. Some of the
rusty plates had parted, and there was a gaping hole near the bow,
through which the water rushed when the vessel rolled to that side.
“Maybe it’s the Flying Dutchman,” cried Jimmy, with a little catch
in his voice and, for the moment, half believing the old legend.
“Or a vessel on which they’ve had the plague,” was Herb’s cheerful
suggestion.
“Not much likelihood of that,” said Joe. “That hole looks as though
she’s been in a collision. But we’ll know all about it in a few
minutes more.”
The sailors rowed toward the stern, looking for a good place to
board. They found a ladder near the rail and fastened the boat by a
rope to the lower rung.
Lieutenant Milton had just set his foot on the ladder to ascend when
there came a sharp bark from above, and a black, shaggy head showed
itself over the rail.
“Didn’t I tell you there was a dog on board?” demanded Bob.
“You win,” conceded Joe. “And I’ll bet, from the way he barks, he’s
glad to see us.”
Two sailors were left in the boat to fend it off from the sides of
the vessel, and the rest of the crew followed the lieutenant on
deck. The boys were close on their heels.
A scene of indescribable confusion met their eyes as they looked
around them. The deck was littered with ropes and parts of the
smashed upper works of the vessel, due either to storm or collision.
The lieutenant, calling on his men to follow him, made a tour of
inspection of the vessel, searching the decks, the cabins, and the
hold. As they had surmised, there was no man on board. The cabins
were strewn with clothing and personal belongings that the owners
evidently had had no time to take with them. On the tables in the
officers’ dining room and the forecastle were the remnants of a
half-eaten meal. In the cook’s galley, pans on the stove still had
meat and eggs in them that had been burned to a crisp. Everything
pointed to the fact that the vessel had been abandoned in a hurry.
Perhaps at that very moment the crew were tossing about in small
boats on the ocean wastes.
But the attention of the boys was taken up for the moment by a big
dog that came bounding up to them with joyful staccato barks of
welcome. The poor creature was so glad of human companionship that
it seemed as though he would go out of his senses.
“Poor brute,” said Bob, as he caressed the shaggy head. “I wish we
had something to give him to eat. He must be nearly starved.”
“More lonely and terrified than starved, I imagine,” said Joe. “He’s
probably been foraging around about among the tables.
“I’ve got a little something here,” said Jimmy, a little sheepishly,
as he drew a bacon sandwich from his pocket.
“Caught with the goods!” exclaimed Joe. “Where did you get this, you
human cormorant?”
“Brought it from the table this morning,” confessed Jimmy. “You see,
I didn’t know just what effect this sea air would have on my
appetite, and I thought I’d better be prepared in advance. But I
guess the dog needs it more than I do, and he’s welcome to it.”
Jimmy tossed the sandwich to the dog, who swallowed it in two gulps
and wagged his tail for more.
“Got any other concealed about you?” asked Herb.
“That’s all,” declared Jimmy, mournfully. “Gee, I wish I could eat
as fast as that fellow can. He’s got me beaten to a frazzle.”
The dog followed the boys like their shadows, as they moved about
the vessel in the wake of the lieutenant and the crew.
“Guess he’s adopted us,” said Herb.
“Adopted Jimmy, you mean,” corrected Joe. “See how close he keeps to
his heels. He thinks Jimmy is the best thing that ever happened.”
“And who shall say he’s wrong?” said Jimmy, throwing out his chest.
“I’ve often heard that dogs have more sense than human beings. They
surely have than some human beings I could mention,” and he looked
significantly at his mates.
They picked up a life-preserver that had on it the words “_Thomas
Wilson_, St. Johns, Newfoundland.”
“That’s the name of the vessel and the port she hails from, I
suppose,” said Bob.
“She’ll never see that port again, I imagine,” remarked Joe. “I
guess she’s ticketed for Davy Jones.”
In about an hour, the lieutenant had learned all that was possible
about the vessel and prepared to return to the _Meteor_.
“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant,” ventured Jimmy. “How about this
dog?”
The officer looked at him a little quizzically.
“Well, what about him?” he countered.
“I—I don’t exactly like the idea of leaving him behind,” said Jimmy,
a little confusedly.
The lieutenant looked half-amused and half-perplexed.
“We haven’t any accommodations for dogs aboard the _Meteor_,” he
said. “Still, I’ll stretch a point and take him over to the vessel
and let the captain decide.”
The Radio Boys, delighted with that much gained, took advantage of
the permission, and together they lugged the dog, which they had
agreed to call Hector, down into the stern of the boat, which,
propelled by lusty arms, soon reached the side of the _Meteor_ and
was lifted on board.
Captain Springer was standing at the rail, and to him the lieutenant
made his report.
“She’s past saving,” he declared. “She lies too low in the water to
be towed into port, and she’d go to pieces, anyway, before she got
there. It’s only because she has a cargo of lumber that she’s kept
afloat as long as she has. As it is, she’s breaking up fast. She’s
an old boat and her timbers are rotten, while her engines are a mass
of junk. It’s a wonder the old tub has been able to keep afloat
until now. When she’ll finally go under though, I can’t say. It may
be a day, and it may be a week. Depends a good deal on the weather.
But while she’s above the water she’s a menace to shipping. A vessel
that plowed into her at night wouldn’t have a Chinaman’s chance.”
“Your recommendation, then, from what you’ve seen?” said the captain
inquiringly.
“Would be to blow her up,” replied the lieutenant, promptly.