THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR
Weary were the hours, even fraught with anxiety as they were, that
Ned, Bob, and Jerry passed aboard the drifting craft. Notwithstanding
the presence of many of their comrades in arms, there was a sense of
loneliness on the vast expanse of the waters of the Atlantic.
Had the _Sherman_ been proceeding along under her own power, lessening
each hour the miles that separated her from the shores of America, this
feeling would not have manifested itself. But as it was, with every one
ready for the trip home, which, for this unavoidable cause, could not
be completed, the sense of the vastness and loneliness of the ocean, on
which the troopship could only drift, filled the boys’ hearts.
With the acknowledgment on the part of the engineers that the wireless
apparatus could no longer issue appeals for help, all that remained to
be done in connection with that was to wait for the possible chance
that some of the messages previously sent out would be answered. To
this end one man was kept constantly on duty, with the rubber receivers
clamped to his ears. And from the strained look on his face it was easy
to guess that his task, simple as it might seem, was no sinecure.
“Why don’t they rig up some kind of sail?” asked several of the
soldiers who clustered on the decks, a few forming a knot around Ned,
Bob, and Jerry, for those lads had let it be known that they had been
talking with one of the wireless men, and, in a manner, spoke as those
having authority.
“That’s it!” chimed in another impatient one. “If we can’t steam we
ought to be able to sail. I’ve often read stories of where a steamer
lost a propeller or something, and the sailors rigged up a mast and got
home all right.”
“They rigged up a jury mast--I’ve read about that, too,” said another.
“Why can’t we do that here, and blow home?”
“Yes, why can’t we?” asked others. “Let’s send a delegation to the
captain and ask him!”
This seemed to find considerable favor, and it might have been carried
into effect but for the fact that just then a peculiar tremor which
could mean but one thing was felt throughout the ship.
“The engines have started!” cried Ned.
“That’s the throb of the propeller, sure enough!” added Bob.
“We’re moving!” came from Jerry, and a chorus of delighted cheers
greeted this announcement.
There was no question as to the last statement. The _Sherman_ was,
indeed, moving slowly through the water. Very slowly, indeed. The
motion was hardly perceptible at first, but it was undoubted. Soldier
after soldier, hearing the news and feeling the vibration, looked over
the side and verified Jerry’s announcement.
Like wild-fire rumors flew about the transport. The chief one, and that
most readily believed, because it was the one that every one desired to
believe, was this:
“The engines have been repaired. Now we’ll get home!”
And for a time this seemed true. The _Sherman_ gathered headway, and
soon began moving more swiftly. But, even at that, her speed was
nothing like what it had been at the beginning of the voyage.
“I guess we had the wrong dope, Ned,” remarked Jerry, as the three
chums discussed the situation. “It couldn’t have been a bomb explosion
after all, or they couldn’t have fixed up the engines.”
“Well, I don’t know that I’ll go so far as to admit that. There may
have been a bomb explosion all right, but, even then, they might have
been able to make repairs. Anyhow, we’re moving.”
“But we haven’t heard anything about the information we gave,” said
Bob; “and the marines are still on guard at that cabin--at least some
sentries are there. I passed the door a little while ago.”
“And we haven’t had a sight of our pepper-pot friend since that guard
was stationed,” added Ned. “I feel sure he’s in there, and that he
tried to blow up the ship.”
“Well, he didn’t make out very well, for we’re on our way once more,”
went on Bob. “And now I feel like eating again! Come on, fellows, let’s
scout around and see if there’s a chance to get some extra grub.”
Bob’s face, that had been gloomy all day (an unusual thing for him)
cleared now. He was leading the way to the galley, followed by Ned
and Jerry, when the throbbing and vibration of the craft, which
unmistakably told of engines working, suddenly ceased.
The three chums gazed blankly at one another, and all about them other
soldiers looked alarmed.
“What’s that?” cried Ned.
“Don’t tell me she’s stopping again!” exclaimed Bob.
“She certainly has stopped, but she may start up again,” voiced Jerry.
But as the minutes passed and the _Sherman_ continued to lose headway
in the smooth sea, the fears of the three chums and their companions
became confirmed.
A little later word was circulated about the ship that the engines
had broken down again. And this time more completely than before. The
temporary repairs that had been made only caused a worse break in the
machinery when the second accident happened.
“Well, it wasn’t a bomb explosion this time,” said Jerry, when it was
ascertained for certain that the transport could not possibly proceed
under her own power.
“But that isn’t saying it wasn’t the original cause of the accident,”
declared Ned. “I’d like to get hold of that pepper-pot and tell him
what I think of him.”
“They’ll do more than tell him, provided they can prove that he had
anything to do with it,” commented Jerry.
“And it certainly looks as if he had--the way they’re keeping him a
prisoner in that cabin,” asserted Ned.
“We aren’t sure he is there,” answered the tall lad.
“I’m pretty sure,” Ned asserted. “Well, there’s no hope for it. All we
can do now is to drift around, wait for a wireless message, or----”
“Sail home!” interrupted Bob. “Look, here come some sailors now,
getting ready to put up some sort of sail.”
This, indeed, seemed to be the case. A number of men came on deck, and
then an effort began to have sails take the place of steam power. There
were two masts on the craft, used, ordinarily, to support the wireless
apparatus. It was determined, now, to fasten sails on these sticks of
steel.
True not much speed could be hoped for, as the _Sherman_ was a big
craft and powerful engines were required to move her. But it was hoped
that such sails as could be rigged would at least give her steerage
way, and this would be needed, in case of a storm, to keep her head on
to the waves. Though there was bitter disappointment over the failure
of the repairs to the engines, there was hope in the sails.
So interested were the three chums in this that, for the time, they
forgot about the mysterious cabin and its occupant, guarded by two
marines.
Rumor had it that the engine room was a wreck, but whether this was
because of the explosion of the steam pipe, which had caused injuries
to a number of men, or to the explosion of a bomb, no one seemed to
know for certain. All that was sure was that the engines were out of
commission.
And if the tedious hours got on the nerves of the soldiers who had
their health and strength, how much more so did they get on the nerves
of the wounded in the hospital wards? So over-wrought were some of the
casuals that it was necessary to organize squads of the sound men to
visit in relays and cheer up their unfortunate comrades.
This worked well, and it not only brightened the wounded, but it gave
the unoccupied well lads a chance to do something to vary the monotony.
This, what might be termed a crisis, occurred after it became known
that the engines had broken down for the second time. This news had
brought a reaction to the sick and wounded.
Meanwhile the men were working hard to get the sails rigged; but
finally this was accomplished. It was a makeshift, to be sure, but
every one was thankful even for that.
And then, as if Fate was determined to make a plaything of the
troopship and desired to show what she could do when she tried, there
came a dead calm. There had been a fairly good wind all the while
the men were rigging the sails, and it was thought, with the expanse
of canvas spread to the breeze, that progress could be made--perhaps
enough even to bring the ship back to port, or at least in the path of
some other craft.
But no sooner had the last rope been made fast and word given to
bring the ship around, with the wind as near astern as would serve the
purpose, than every breath of air died out.
“Dead calm!” muttered one of the sailors. “Dead as a mackerel!”
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Bob, when it became evident that the
transport could only drift helplessly about.
“Whistle for a breeze!” some one suggested.
The idea was taken in good part, and it had one effect--that of
bringing forth a flood of--well, not exactly melody, for too many
were off-key. But it brought forth laughs, and this was something,
considering the gloom that seemed overpowering all on board.
All that could be done was to wait--wait for the wind, wait for an
answer on the wireless, wait for the sight of some craft to aid them,
either by providing a tow or sending word of their plight to those that
could help.
Slowly the hours passed. Even the serving of meals brought little
relaxation or enjoyment, and Ned and Jerry noticed, not without alarm,
that Bob’s appetite was very poor.
“Come on, let’s start something!” proposed Jerry, after a bit.
“Start what?” asked Ned.
“Oh, a game, or something. We’ll go woozy if we stand about waiting for
something to happen. Let’s go below, get some of the fellows we know,
and see what we can dig up.”
As the three chums started for a companionway they noticed an
old sailor gazing out across the ocean, which was as calm as the
oft-spoken-of “mill pond.”
“See anything?” asked Jerry, as he paused to speak to the old salt.
“Not much,” was the answer.
“What’s the weather going to do?” asked Ned.
“Ha! I wish I knew!” was the retort. “Looked like a storm this
morning--red sun and everything. Now I’ll be jiggered if I don’t think
we’re in for the doldrums!”
“What’s he saying?” asked another soldier lad of Jerry. “Does he mean
some disease may break out?”
“No,” answered the tall lad, with a smile. “Doldrum means a calm--a
dead calm. Ships often run into the doldrums near the equator.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind what we ran into, if we could only move,” was
the dismal retort.
“That’s the trouble,” voiced Ned. “The doldrums are the worst calms
ever--no motion at all.”
“Good-night!” cried the seeker after information.
Passing through a corridor below decks on their way to seek some of
their friends to try to organize something that would while away the
dreary monotony, the three chums approached a closed cabin door.
And Bob remarked:
“Why, they’ve taken the marine guards away! I wonder what that means?”
Before his companions could join in his speculation the door of the
cabin opened, and through the opening the lads caught sight of a
figure. It was the figure of a little bald-headed man, and he wore
large spectacles. He was bending over a mass of papers on a table in
front of him, and, at the sight of this individual, Ned, Bob, and
Jerry, as if in the same voice, exclaimed:
“Professor Snodgrass!”