A LONE NAVIGATOR
Jerry Hopkins stood in a pool of sea water on the deck of the derelict
to which he had climbed after having been immersed in the ocean for
more than an hour. Every seam of his garments seemed to spew out a
little puddle of dampness, and he said afterward that he felt not
unlike a sponge. But for the time being, wonder at his new situation
and thankfulness that he was on something more substantial than a wave
overpowered every other emotion.
“Well, I’m here, but where am I?” mused Jerry. “I wonder what vessel
this is and how long she will remain afloat? Anyhow, if she does go
under I can make a raft of something to keep afloat on. This isn’t half
bad. Now let’s see where I’m at!”
Jerry knew that the best thing for him to do was to get some dry
clothes on, provided he could find any, or, if not, to get his wet ones
off and let them dry. The weather was cold and damp, and the fog still
prevailed, so much so that he could only see part of the deck of the
derelict at a time.
The refugee also felt the need of food and something hot to drink, for
though it was not winter his immersion in the sea, coupled to the fact
that the last few days had been damp, cold ones, had not served to
raise his vitality.
“But first I’m going to see if any one else is on board,” mused Jerry,
as he moved about, first, however, removing his soaked coat and
trousers. His shoes he had loosed and let drop into the ocean soon
after he began swimming.
“This is as good as a bathing suit, in case I meet any one,” mused the
lad, as he glanced down at his underwear. “And I can’t stand those wet
things. There must be bunks aboard, if nothing else, and I can crawl
into one after a bit. But first I’m going to look about.”
He did not pause long to ascertain what sort of craft it was on which
he found himself. That it was a derelict, and that it was probably the
one that had crashed into the _Sherman_, or the craft into which the
troopship had crashed, was very evident to Jerry Hopkins. That it was
a derelict was sure, for there was not a sign of life on deck, nor was
the vessel under command. There was no vestige of sail, and no smoke
came from her single funnel, nor was there any vibration to tell of
engines in motion.
Jerry made a quick tour of the deck, moving swiftly to restore his
partially suspended circulation. The vessel showed many evidences of
damage, whether by shell fire or collision Jerry could not determine.
Her rails were broken in many places, and all her boats were gone
except a broken one on the port davits. Looking over the side as best
he could the lad decided that there was not much damage below the water
line, or, if there were punctures, the bulkheads confined the leakage
to one small section.
“She floats pretty well,” mused Jerry, after he had made a tour of the
craft and had seen no one on the deck. “She may ride quite a while yet.
There’s no one up here, that’s sure, but that isn’t saying there mayn’t
be some one below. I’m going to look.”
The sea was calm and the vessel rode on an almost even keel, so the lad
had no difficulty in going below. In spite of her comparatively small
size, the derelict contained many places where persons might be either
in hiding, or perhaps ill or dead. But Jerry moved quickly about below,
using his knowledge of ships which was not small, and as he moved here
and there he shouted.
The echoes of his own voice were the only answers he received, and when
he had penetrated to the engine room, and even to the stokehold, and
had seen the boilers cold and dead, and not a soul in sight, he came to
the most natural conclusion.
“I’m all alone here!” he exclaimed aloud. Somehow, it seemed less
lonely to speak in this way. “Well, since I’ve got to entertain
myself,” mused Jerry whimsically, “I’m going to see if there is
anything I can wear and anything I can eat. Might as well be as
comfortable as I can since I’m to be ‘cook and captain too, and mate’
of this derelict. Wonder what her name is, anyhow?”
A look at the one remaining lifeboat--useless as it was,--showed
painted on her bow the words: “_Altaire_, New York.”
“Never heard of her,” mused the lad. “She’s probably some small tramp
steamer, and maybe was doing a sort of free and easy freight business
to Europe. The Germans caught her and--good-night! She must have been
floating around for some time, though.”
Going below again, out of the cold, damp fog, Jerry came upon what
he took to be the cabin of the captain or one of the mates. It bore
evidences of having been ransacked, but there was clothing scattered
about, as was the case in adjoining cabins, and Jerry at once stripped,
rubbed himself down well until his whole body was in a glow, and
then he dressed himself in the best of what he found. It was rather
nondescript, to say the least.
“But I’m warm, and that’s a whole lot,” reasoned the lone navigator.
“And as there’s no one to see me, who cares how I look?”
Warmly clad, though somewhat regretting that he was no longer in Uncle
Sam’s uniform, Jerry’s next thought was of getting something to eat.
“And I only wish old Bob and Ned were here with me to help get up a
meal--provided I can find any!” mused the lad. “Wonder what happened to
them. Were they tossed overboard as I was? Or did the _Sherman_ sink?
That can hardly have happened, though, or I’d have heard more of a
commotion--fellows shouting and so on. Guess she’s all right, but it’s
mighty queer I’m the only one on board here. What became of Professor
Snodgrass? And what was he doing on board, and that other queer
duck--_le cochon_?”
Jerry paused to reflect a moment, going hastily over in his mind all
that had happened since he had been standing in the fog on the deck of
the transport conversing with his friends.
“Seems like a week ago, and yet it wasn’t more than two hours,” he
decided. “Well, now for the grub--if there is any!”
Jerry did not need to be told the location of the galley and pantry.
He found the place where the ship’s food was prepared, but, like the
cabins, the deck, and the engine room--it was drearily empty. There was
a stock of dry wood and some coal near the galley stove, however, and
finding matches in a tin box, Jerry soon had a blaze.
“Feels mighty good, too,” he decided as he rubbed his hands over the
fast-warming stove. “Now if I can get something to eat I’ll feel like a
real passenger.”
There was, as the lad soon discovered, enough food on board to last a
long while. Much had been hastily taken away--that was evident--but
plenty remained.
Whether the passengers and crew had filled the boats before leaving
what they believed to be a sinking ship, or whether the Germans had
looted the _Altaire_, Jerry could not determine.
However, he found some tins of pilot biscuit, some canned bacon, and
enough coffee to last him a year, he thought. There was condensed
milk, also, and plenty of sugar, though how the Germans overlooked
that--providing they had been the marauders--it was hard to say.
Moving quickly about, Jerry soon had some bacon sizzling on the stove,
its aroma mingling with that of the coffee. Having unearthed a tin of
preserved butter, Jerry set himself a table. Then, surveying the work
of his hands, he exclaimed:
“Not half bad, old top! Not half bad!”
How good that sizzling, crisp bacon and coffee tasted to Jerry Hopkins!
He was just finishing his repast and wondering what he had best do
next, when he heard a sound up above on deck.
Jerry started so suddenly that he dropped the empty coffee cup he had
been about to set down, and it crashed to the floor, breaking into many
pieces.
“Are we hitting something else, or has some one come to life on board
here?” mused Jerry, as he slowly rose from his seat.