Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 62914-h.htm or 62914-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/62914/pg62914-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/62914/62914-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/wirelessoperator00thei
THE WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE U. S. COAST GUARD
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY
LEWIS E. THEISS
IN CAMP AT FORT BRADY. A Camping Story. 304 pages.
HIS BIG BROTHER. A Story of the Struggles and Triumphs
of a Little Son of Liberty. 320 pages.
LUMBERJACK BOB. A Tale of the Alleghanies. 320 pages.
THE WIRELESS PATROL AT CAMP BRADY. A Story of How the
Boy Campers, Through Their Knowledge of Wireless, “Did
Their Bit.” 320 pages.
THE SECRET WIRELESS. A Story of the Camp Brady Patrol.
320 pages.
THE HIDDEN AERIAL. The Spy Line on the Mountain. 332
pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—AFLOAT. How Roy Mercer Won
His Spurs in the Merchant Marine. 320 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—AS A FIRE PATROL. The Story
of a Young Wireless Amateur Who Made Good as a Fire
Patrol. 352 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE OYSTER FLEET. How
Alec Cunningham Won His Way to the Top in the Oyster
Business. 328 pages.
Cloth Bound—Illustrated by Colored Plates and Photographs
* * * * * *
[Illustration: A U. S. Coast Guard Cutter Surrounded by Icebergs]
THE WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE U. S. COAST GUARD
by
LEWIS EDWIN THEISS
W. A. Wilde Company
Boston Chicago
Appreciation is herewith extended to the United
States Coast Guard and the International Newsreel
for the use of photographic material.
Copyrighted, 1924,
By W. A. Wilde Company
All rights reserved
The Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Coast Guard
Made in U. S. A.
To those unsung heroes,
men of the U. S. Coast Guard,
this book is dedicated
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
Among all the various arms of government in our nation, no arm is at
once less known or more worthy of renown than the Coast Guard. Like
the knights of the Table Round, this company of gallant surfmen and
sailors is organized and exists almost solely for the protection of
others. Though few in numbers, the Coast Guard accomplishes deeds
that are mighty. Skill of the highest order, daring incredible, and
discipline that is perfect, make a giant of this little service.
Stout of heart, indeed, must be the men who belong to it; for when
others are fleeing for their lives, the Coast Guard is always
heading straight for the danger, to rescue those incompetent or
unable to effect their own rescue. Let those who think the age of
romance is past but read the story of the Coast Guard and they will
change their minds.
For those who demand that fiction be based upon actual occurrence,
the author wishes to say that this book is hardly more than a
transcript from life. Every major incident in it is based upon an
actual happening. It was the Coast Guard cutter _Yamacraw_ that lost
six boatloads of seamen in the surf while attempting to rescue a
helpless steamer. It was the _Seneca_ that searched the wintry seas
for the helpless oil tanker that had been abandoned by the tug
towing it. And the final incident in the book, in which a stricken
freighter sinks in a storm, and the wireless operator ministers
calmly to his commander in the face of almost certain death, is but
a poor attempt to recite the story of “Smiling Jimmy Nevins,” a mere
lad, who went smiling to his death as a member of a volunteer crew
from the _Seneca_, in an effort to save a torpedoed freighter for
the Allies during the recent World War.
In preparation for the writing of this story, the author spent some
time aboard both the _Seneca_ and the _Tampa_. He wishes here to
express his admiration for the Coast Guard as a whole, and his very
great indebtedness to Captain B. H. Camden, of the _Seneca_, Captain
Wm. J. Wheeler, of the _Tampa_, Lieutenant C. C. Von Paulson, of the
_Tampa_, and Chief Electrician Belton Miller, of the _Seneca_, for
their kindly assistance. Each of the four has played a heroic part
in some of the deeds portrayed in this book.
Lewis E. Theiss.
Lewisburg, Pa.
February 28, 1923.
FOREWORD
Reading into the present the history of the early mariner along our
shores, one is impressed with the march of civilization.
Institutions having for their purpose the saving of human life are
products of civilization—a part of the great scheme of humanization.
This volume, dedicated “To those unsung heroes, the men of the U. S.
Coast Guard,” is an interesting, an engaging, and a compelling
portrayal of the everyday work of the Coast Guard, with its
vicissitudes, hardships, perils and accomplishments. The Coast Guard
in fact is an establishment of service and opportunity—service to
those whose fortunes are cast with the deep and along our shores,
opportunity for the young men of the nation of character, stability
and fixedness of purpose, to follow the Stars and Stripes in the
ever-beautiful cause of humanity.
F. C. BILLARD, Rear Admiral,
U. S. Coast Guard, Commandant
CONTENTS
I. Henry Seeks His Fortune
II. A Fight for Life
III. The Search for the Derelict
IV. The Watch in the Dark
V. The Destruction of the Derelict
VI. A Call for Help
VII. A Tramp of the Seas
VIII. In the Cradle of the Deep
IX. The City of Paul Revere
X. A Ship in Distress
XI. Lost in the Sea
XII. The Rescue
XIII. Henry Finds He Has an Enemy
XIV. A Catastrophe
XV. Under a Cloud
XVI. The Mystery Grows Deeper
XVII. A Ship in Distress
XVIII. A Clue to the Culprit
XIX. The Culprit Discovered
XX. Henry’s Exoneration
XXI. Among the Icebergs
XXII. Victory
The Wireless Operator—With the U.S. Coast Guard
CHAPTER I
HENRY SEEKS HIS FORTUNE
Henry Harper was making his way down the longest street in the world
as fast as the jam of traffic would allow. But this longest street
in the world, Broadway in New York City, is also one of the world’s
busiest thoroughfares, and, despite his haste, Henry Harper could
proceed but slowly. It was the noon hour, and the sidewalks were
jammed with thousands upon thousands of clerks, stenographers,
business men, and other busy workers, going to or from their
luncheons. The streets were overflowing with vehicular traffic, as
the sidewalks were with foot-passengers. No matter to which side
Henry darted, there was always some person or some vehicle in front
of him, and so, though quivering with impatience, he was obliged to
curb his speed and make his way the best he could among pedestrians
and trucks. He was bound for the office of the United States Secret
Service, and it seemed to him that he would never get there. He had
just come to New York from his home in Central City, Pennsylvania,
and he was on his way to see his old friend Willie Brown, who had
some time previously won a position with the Secret Service.
When, finally, he did reach his destination, Henry found himself
facing a situation that troubled him a great deal more than he cared
to admit. Willie Brown was not in the office. What was more, Willie
was not even in town. He had been sent away on some special duty.
The office boy did not know when Willie would return. All he knew
was that Willie had started on a trip that would probably last two
or three weeks, and there was no one in the office who could give
Henry any more definite information. All the clerks were out at
luncheon, but they probably wouldn’t know where Willie was going,
anyway. And the Chief, who had given Willie his orders in person,
had left for the day.
If Henry had wanted to see Willie merely to renew old
acquaintanceship, the situation would have been unpleasant enough.
But it was a thousand times worse than that, for Henry had come to
New York upon Willie’s express invitation, and the latter was going
to try to help him get a job. Henry had not told him exactly when he
would arrive, and so he could not blame him for not being on hand or
for not leaving a message for him. Willie’s absence made it mighty
unpleasant for Henry, though, for the latter had expected to be his
guest, and his funds were slender. Indeed, he had little more than
enough money to pay his return car fare. Two or three days at a New
York hotel would exhaust these funds entirely. No wonder Henry
looked worried as he slowly left the building and stepped once more
into the seething jam on Broadway.
“I’ll slip over to the Confederated Steamship Office,” thought Henry
to himself. “I know the _Lycoming_ is at sea, and Roy won’t be back
in New York for almost a week. But maybe I can find some one who can
help me out of my difficulty.” So he headed hopefully toward the
piers on the Hudson River front, occupied by the coastwise steamship
line for which another of his old chums, Roy Mercer, now worked as a
wireless operator on the steamer _Lycoming_.
Again he was doomed to disappointment. Not a ship lay in the docks.
Not an official of any sort could be found about the place. Only a
watchman was in charge, at the gate, and he proved to be gruff and
surly. If only one of the _Lycoming’s_ sister ships had been in
port, Henry would have appealed to the wireless operator on her, and
trusted to the freemasonry that exists among wireless men generally.
But there was no such luck for him. Apparently there was no one he
could reach to whom he could appeal. Here he was, stranded in the
metropolis, without a friend or an acquaintance, with no job in
sight, and with only a very few dollars in his pocket. It was a
situation to take the heart out of almost any boy.
But Henry was no ordinary boy. To begin with, he was approaching
manhood. In a year or two he would be old enough to vote. He was as
large as most men, and as independent mentally as he was sturdy
physically, so he did not become alarmed and panic-stricken, as a
younger lad might have, but set himself to think out the best course
he could pursue. He knew that all he had to do was to find some way
to tide himself over until either Roy or Willie returned, and things
would be all right.
Nevertheless he was worried about his money. For even though he
could readily borrow from his friends upon their return, it wouldn’t
be exactly an easy thing to repay the loan. The money in his pocket
was about all the money he had in the world.
With Roy and Willie, he had belonged to the Camp Brady Wireless
Patrol. Indeed, it was Henry himself who had organized that little
group of boys, and who had made the first wireless set they
possessed, by the use of some patterns given him by an uncle. And he
had become probably the most expert wireless operator in the patrol.
In fact, during an emergency he had served for a time as a
government operator in the big wireless station at Frankfort, not so
many miles from his home in Central City.
When he thought of those days Henry sighed, almost with bitterness.
Then he was the leader in every respect. Not only was he the oldest
boy in the Wireless Patrol, but he was farthest advanced. In the
nature of things he should by this time have been far along the road
to success, and in a position to help his friends; whereas it had
actually turned out that he was behind them all, and that they were
helping him instead. Yet it was no fault of Henry’s. His father’s
death had thrown upon him the burden of supporting not only himself
but his mother as well. Henry had given up his work at the high
school for a time, but his mother had insisted upon his completing
it. It had taken him twice as long to finish his course this way as
it would have, could he have gone on without interruption. But now
he was glad he had listened to his mother. Even though he was so
late getting started, he knew he would go farther in the end.
But was he started? The question worried Henry so much that he could
hardly think. He had come to New York with high hopes of getting a
real start, and now he seemed about to waste the few remaining
dollars he possessed. What should he do? The roar of the traffic
disturbed him. He could not think connectedly. He wanted to compose
himself, so he made his way down the water-front to Battery Park,
where he might be undisturbed while he thought out his problem.
But the familiar scenes in Battery Park set a new train of thought
in motion in his head, and utterly defeated, for the time, his plan
to think out his course of action, for in front of him, as he sat on
a park bench, was the old, familiar harbor, with its seething waters
and its throbbing life. And straight across the rolling waves was
Staten Island, where he had spent those memorable days in that
never-to-be-forgotten hunt for the secret wireless of the Germans,
during the war, when the Secret Service had accepted the proffered
help of the Wireless Patrol in the search for the treacherous spies
that were betraying the movements of American transports. How
clearly all the incidents of that search for the secret wireless now
stood out in Henry’s mind. He could recall, as though it had been
but yesterday, the departure of the selected unit of the patrol—Roy
Mercer and Lew Heinsling and Willie Brown and himself—from Central
City, and their meeting with their leader, Captain Hardy, and the
tedious watch for the German spies, lasting through weeks, which
began in upper Manhattan and ended in Staten Island.
And when Henry thought of the snug little headquarters they had had
in a private house in Staten Island, with a delightful elderly
couple, he jumped to his feet and almost shouted with relief. Why
hadn’t he thought of those old people before? They would take him in
and tide him over until his friends returned. They would be glad to
see him again, too. Henry felt sure of that, and, sighing with
relief, he leaped to his feet, seized his little suit-case, and
hustled over to the near-by municipal ferry-house, just in time to
catch an outgoing boat for Staten Island.
Eased in mind, he now eagerly watched the harbor, thrilling with the
stirring scenes before him. Six miles as the crow flies lay the
course across the bay to Staten Island, and this six miles was alive
with shipping. Everywhere vessels were moving. Sister ferry-boats
were ploughing the waves straight toward Staten Island. In the
Hudson and the East Rivers more ferry-boats were crossing back and
forth. Big steamers were moving majestically along. Tugboats without
number churned the choppy waves to foam, some riding in solitary
state, and some towing long strings of barges at the ends of great
hawsers. Others were snuggled in between big lighters, like porters
with huge bandboxes under each arm. In the anchorages below the
Statue of Liberty great tramp ships rode idly at anchor, awaiting
cargoes. And on the opposite side of the bay, below Governor’s
Island, stately sailing ships rolled gently in their moorings.
Motor-boats, yachts, sailboats, even an occasional rowboat, moved
this way and that. The surface of the water was crossed and
recrossed with lines of yeasty foam, churned up by the passing
craft, while the air was vibrant with the ceaseless tooting of
ships’ whistles.
And there was Governor’s Island, with its antiquated round fort, and
the ancient cannons atop of it. And farther along was the newly-made
part of the island, filled in with thousands of loads of material
brought by barges. On this made land now stood row upon row of
government sheds and warehouses erected during the war. And Henry
recalled the still more stirring scenes during those days of
struggle, when every possible anchorage was occupied, and the boats
of the Coast Guard went rushing about with their peremptory orders
to incoming steamers, like traffic police of the harbor, as indeed
they were. And as his boat drew near the ferry-house at St. George,
Henry saw a Coast Guard cutter herself lying at anchor close to the
Staten Island shore. How trim and beautiful she looked, in her
shining white paint, with her flags flying, and her motor-boat lying
lazily alongside.
But now the great ferry-boat was coming to rest in her dock. The
clank of pawls, as the deck-hands made the huge craft fast, the
lowering of the gangways, and the hurried rush of feet, made Henry
take his gaze away from the fascinating harbor scene, for the crowd
was moving and he had to move with it. In another moment he had
stepped ashore and found himself outside the ferry-house.
An interesting place, indeed, was this St. George terminal. Henry
had journeyed on the upper deck of the ferry-boat, and now he found
himself in the upper part of the ferry-house. There were all the
usual features of a great waiting-room—long rows of seats, and
news-stands, and quick-lunch counters, and fruit-stands. None of
these interested Henry. His attention was centred on the scene
without. The edge of the island was a low-lying fringe of land, now
given over wholly to shipping facilities—great wharves and piers and
wide roadways skirting the water’s edge. Inland a few hundred yards
the ground rose sharp and steep, and these sloping terraces were
covered with buildings. Skirting the hilly heart of the island,
roads wound downward, meeting directly in front of the ferry
building, and reaching that structure by a long, sloping approach.
These converging roads made Henry think of a huge funnel, with the
sloping ferry-approach as its small end. And the idea of a funnel
was carried out by the way this approach poured traffic into the
ferry-terminal. Trolley cars, motor cars, and pedestrians swarmed
down it in endless procession. Seemingly all the roads in Staten
Island converged at the upper end of this ferry-approach, and
shunted their burdens toward the crowded ferry-house.
Up this ferry-approach Henry made his way until he came to the end
of it, where it split into divergent roads. A moment he stood here,
waiting a favorable opportunity to cross the road. While waiting, he
noticed a man on the opposite curb, who was likewise held up by the
traffic, and who was evidently impatient of delay. Suddenly the man
swung from the curb and tried to worm his way across the
thoroughfare, among the moving vehicles. He had a bulging suit-case
in one hand and a large package in the other. Henry judged that he
was hurrying to catch a boat.
The stranger was halfway across the street, when a recklessly driven
car, rushing up the ferry-approach, made the nearest drivers on the
upper roads swing sharply to one side. That caused all the traffic
to turn out. The man crossing the road was so laden with bundles
that he could not move quickly enough, and he was caught directly in
front of an oncoming motor truck. With a leap, Henry was at the
pedestrian’s side. Seizing him by the arm, he dragged him to safety.
But the car in passing knocked the parcel from the man’s arm and
broke it open, scattering its contents on the road. The car behind
promptly stopped, blocking the traffic. Henry snatched up the
scattered contents of the parcel and jumped back to the sidewalk.
Then he took the suit-case himself, while the stranger bundled the
contents of the broken parcel under his arms, and together they made
their way to the ferry-house.
Henry’s companion was a heavy-set man of ruddy complexion, whose
strong face showed both firmness of character and kindness of
spirit.
“That fellow would have got me sure,” he said indignantly, “if it
hadn’t been for you, sir. They ought to put about half of these
motor-car drivers in jail.”
“They’re pretty reckless,” Henry agreed.
“I don’t know how I am ever going to repay you,” said the man. “You
probably saved my life.”
“I don’t want any pay,” said Henry. “If I really saved you from harm
I am glad.”
They reached the ferry-house, but, instead of entering, the man
turned to the right and went down a flight of steps. Then he walked
across the lower road to the very edge of the wharf, and out on a
little float. Henry saw at once that the man must belong on some one
of the ships at anchor near by, and was probably waiting for a small
boat to meet him.
“If I can be of no further help to you,” said Henry, “I must be on
my way.”
“I guess I’m safe enough now,” laughed the man. “And I owe it to you
that I got here with a whole skin.” He thrust his hand into his
pocket and pulled out a little roll of bills. “Take these,” he said
to Henry, “and my best wishes.”
Henry looked at the money longingly, but only for a second. “I thank
you,” he said, “but I couldn’t do it, sir.”
“At least you will shake hands,” smiled the stranger, and he thrust
out his hand. Henry took the proffered hand, shook it warmly, and,
saying good-bye, turned on his heel. In a few moments he was back at
the crossing, and a second later he had gained the farther curb and
was absorbed in the study of the old town where he had spent such
memorable days.
But what a difference! This was not the town of St. George as he
knew it at all. How it had expanded and been built up. On every hand
arose unfamiliar buildings. From a little town the settlement had
altered into a city. Where once stood little cottages now arose
great business blocks or towering apartments. No longer was this a
sleepy little island. It was a pulsing part of a great city.
Rapidly Henry strode along, his pulse stirred, as always, by the
throbbing life of the great metropolis. On he went, and on and on,
until he came to the place where he should have seen the house of
the German spy. It was no longer there. A great row of apartments
had replaced it. And when Henry looked above, at the higher level
where stood the house in which he and his comrades had spent so many
thrilling days, again he saw a row of towering apartments. The house
he was seeking no longer existed.
The realization shocked him. He stopped in his tracks and stared.
His heart almost stood still. His last hope was gone. Then wildly he
tore up the roadway to the higher level, still hoping that he might
find some trace of the people he sought. His hope was vain. No name
in any doorway even remotely suggested the name he was looking for,
and all whom he questioned gave him the same reply,—they did not
know any one of that name.
Almost stunned, Henry turned about and slowly retraced his
footsteps. He was hardly conscious of where he was going, but he
kept walking, and his footsteps naturally went downhill. Before he
realized where he was, Henry found himself on the water-front. A
great, wide, cobbled thoroughfare ran along the water’s edge, and
here, projecting far out into the bay, stood pier after pier in a
magnificent row, all built as a result of the war. But the pulsing
life of the war days was gone. Many of the piers seemed empty or
deserted. Few vessels lay in the docks. Yet the splendid
water-front, once open and unobstructed, was now completely shut in
by these hulking structures. To see the water here, one must either
go back up the hill, where one could see over the pier-sheds, or
else go to the seaward end of a pier. And no matter how keen his
disappointment was, Henry did want to see the water-front here.
After a little he would go back to Manhattan and try to find some
quarters where he could exist until one of his friends returned, or
until he could get a job. But before he went back he meant to have a
good look at this lower end of the harbor, which he loved so well.
Carefully he made his way along the edge of a pier, outside of the
pier-shed. It chanced to be unoccupied. Henry was glad it was so,
for there would be no one to disturb him. He could enjoy the scene
to his heart’s content. When he reached the outer end of the pier,
he set his little suit-case down and gave himself up to full
enjoyment of the scene. Not far below him were the buildings at the
quarantine station, and a great steamer lay in the Narrows there,
evidently detained by the quarantine officials. Here were no
hurrying ferry-boats, but directly off the pier on which he stood
were anchored a number of ocean-going craft. How huge they seemed.
How alluring was the thought of a voyage aboard one of them, even if
they were but clumsy freighters. There was nothing clumsy about the
little Coast Guard cutter that lay near them, however, and again
Henry admired the trim little craft. He saw her small boat returning
from land with some passengers aboard, and he wondered at her speed
and the way she darted through the waves. He could even see the man
on watch, as he paced back and forth across the bridge.
Presently an ocean liner passed down the Narrows, headed for the
open sea. How majestically she rode the waves! Her rails were lined
with people. Henry wondered where they were going, and when they
would be coming back again. He watched the great ship until she
began to grow small in the distance. He was lost in thought, his
mind with the voyagers on the great vessel. There was not a soul
about to disturb his meditations. No one was on the pier, and no
ships lay in the docks alongside. How he wished he might take a
journey abroad, like the passengers on that great liner, and see
distant lands and strange peoples.
Unconsciously Henry had approached the very edge of the pier. He
hardly realized that only a foot or two of solid planking lay
between him and the heaving waters. His thoughts were entirely
centred upon the vanishing steamer. He wanted to watch her until he
could see her no longer. Her course turned her slightly toward the
shore, behind some pier-sheds and shipping farther down-stream.
Henry craned his neck as far as he could, to watch the disappearing
vessel. Then he took one step forward, and, as he did so, his toe
caught under a spike which was sticking up an inch or so in the
flooring of the pier. He lost his balance, and, before he could
recover himself, pitched head foremost over the end of the pier.
Then, with no one near to aid him, with not a soul to hear his
startled cry for help, he sank far down into the cold and heaving
waters.