REUNITED
Jerry Hopkins, disturbed at his lonely meal by the sound of something
or some one moving on the deck of the derelict, started slowly and
cautiously toward the companionway.
“If it’s one of the crew of this ship or some of the passengers, I’ll
be all right,” he reasoned. “But if it’s one of some beastly German
submarine crew----”
He did not finish, but looked around for some sort of weapon. He saw a
small bar of iron, which might have been used by the cook for a fire
poker, and with this in his hand Jerry cautiously went up on deck.
“Anybody here?” he called, as he carefully thrust up his head. He held
the iron bar in readiness. There was no answer, and as Jerry felt the
cold, clammy air on his face and smelled the fog, he knew that the
derelict was still enveloped in the mist.
“No one seems to have boarded me,” he mused, as his eyes searched
the whiteness for a glimpse of some other craft. “If any one is here
besides myself he must have been in hiding. Hello!” he cried as loudly
as he could. “Anybody at home?”
There was no answer. There was only the swish and swash of the heaving
ocean against the sides of the derelict and the rattle and bang of some
loose gear, as a swell gently careened her to and fro.
“Nobody here,” mused Jerry. “What could that noise have been?”
He looked about, at first warily, for he half expected to have to
engage with some German, as he and his chums had engaged in the
trenches in France. Then he became convinced that he was all alone
on the craft, and, though he had a realization that this would react
dreadfully on him later, for the time being he was thankful that there
was no one with whom to contend.
“I wonder what made that noise,” said Jerry again, and he spoke aloud.
The words had scarcely left his lips before he heard a banging,
rattling sound, and then he saw what it was.
A loose keg, probably one used for water, was rolling about the deck,
and this, colliding with various objects, movable and stationary, had
caused the commotion.
“Well, it’s a good thing to know what it was,” mused Jerry with an air
of relief. “I’ll just make this fast now, so it won’t wake me up when
I get to sleep.”
This done, his next thought was on the very subject he had last
mentioned--going to sleep.
“It wouldn’t be a bad plan to look to see where I’m going to bunk
to-night,” mused Jerry. “I’ve got to turn in some time, and it must be
getting on toward night--though one wouldn’t know just what time it was
in this fog.”
He looked at his wrist watch. It was one enclosed in a waterproof case,
and the hands showed four o’clock in the afternoon.
“I’ll consider that what I just ate was my lunch,” decided Jerry, “and
when the time comes I’ll have a late supper. Wish Chunky and Ned were
here to share it with me--also the professor. Wonder what happened to
them.”
It was a useless wondering, and Jerry realized it, but he could not
help speculating on what fate had befallen his companions. They had
been standing so near him when the crash came that there was hardly any
question in Jerry’s mind but what they had either gone overboard, as
had he, or been hurt.
“If they fell into the sea and managed to cling to something, maybe
there’s a chance for them,” he reflected. “But if they were right in
the path of the collision, it may be all up with them. This certainly
was a disastrous voyage from the start. But I suppose I ought to be
thankful that I’m alive.”
Carrying out his intention of finding a place to sleep, Jerry went
below again. He found he had quite a choice open to him. There were a
number of cabins and comfortable beds he could pick from, and though
some of the bed clothing had been taken, or at least had disappeared,
there was more than he needed.
He made himself up a berth in what he decided was the captain’s cabin,
though all papers and everything else to indicate specific ownership
had been removed. Jerry hung up his own wet clothes to dry, as he
intended donning his uniform as soon as it was in shape to wear.
“I haven’t been discharged yet,” he reasoned; “and if any of the dirty
Germans show up I want to show ’em who I am!”
Having made up his berth, Jerry laid out some food he intended to cook
when supper time came, and then, having banked the fire in the galley
stove, he went up on deck again. The fog was still heavy, and he could
see not much further than the width of the deck of the derelict. But he
felt that this was a good opportunity for making an investigation of
the craft, to decide, if possible, what character of ship she had been.
With his knowledge of vessels it did not take Jerry long to make up
his mind that the _Altaire_ had been a tramp freighter, engaged in
whatever trade she could pick up. He did not investigate the cargo
holds, but they seemed partly filled with boxes and cases. Some had
been broken out and carried bodily away. Others were strewn about below
decks, the contents, partly removed, of a few giving evidence that
goods of iron, steel, rubber, clothing, farm implements, and household
appliances had made up the manifest.
“I guess the Germans wish they could have taken the whole cargo,” mused
Jerry, as he looked at the broken cases. “Their subs are limited,
however. Well, if I could get this ship and her cargo to some port I
could make a lot of money.”
That was impossible, as he knew, unaided as he was. His next care was
to make as thorough an inspection of the craft as was possible, and
this revealed the important fact that she was not leaking or sinking.
“If the Germans thought they put her out of business they made a
mistake,” Jerry decided. “Unless they left her with time bombs aboard,
which haven’t gone off yet.”
This thought gave him a fright, and he looked as carefully as he
could in what he thought the most likely places to find such fiendish
devices. He saw nothing alarming, however.
The engine room was in confusion, and certain parts of the machinery
were broken. But whether these were vital parts Jerry did not stop to
determine. He knew that without help he could not hope to operate the
engines anyhow; and without a boiler room gang to get up steam, even
the most perfect engine would not run for the best expert in existence.
“I might hoist some sort of sail,” mused the lone navigator. “I suppose
I can do that. And I ought to set some sort of signal. This fog can’t
last forever, and if any ship passes me I want those on board to know
I’m in need of help. I’ll go up and see what I can manage.”
Jerry knew there were certain signals that would indicate a vessel in
distress, while others would show the craft was merely unmanageable. He
came under both headings, so to speak.
By rummaging in the chart room the lad found a signal book, and also
a set of flags and some lanterns. These last had oil in them and were
ready for lighting.
“That’s what I’ll do!” decided Jerry. “I’ll hoist the flags for day
work, and use the lanterns at night. Might as well get the best I can
out of it.”
Finding the proper combination of flags to indicate that he was both in
distress and unmanageable, Jerry hoisted them as high as he could on
the wireless masts.
“I’d send out a call for help if I could get the electrical machinery
to working,” said Jerry, as he looked into the wireless room. But he
saw that there had been a destructive force engaged here, for some of
the instruments were smashed. He knew how to operate a simple sending
set, and also how to receive messages, but he reasoned that it was out
of the question to make this apparatus available.
“The Huns must have set off a bomb here to prevent the _Altaire_
signaling for help,” he reasoned.
Having hoisted his signals, Jerry began to look about for the material
for getting sail on his craft. There was plenty of canvas, and he knew
enough about a boat to feel sure he could get up some kind of surface
that the wind might get hold of.
“It will give her steerage way, anyhow,” he reasoned, “and I’ll need
that if the wind begins to blow and the old craft falls into the
trough. Got to keep her head up to the waves or I’ll be swamped. If a
sail won’t do it, I’ll have to rig up a sea anchor.”
This is merely a drag, fastened to the stern of a disabled ship by
means of ropes. A sea anchor floats just submerged under the surface,
and, offering no surface to the wind while the higher structure of a
vessel acts almost as a sail, the anchor becomes a sort of auxiliary
rudder in cases where there is not momentum enough for the regular
rudder to be effective, or where it is missing.
Jerry found what he thought would make a sail, and he was considering
how he could best use this when he noticed that there was a puff
of wind. As this had been the first in some days it attracted his
attention.
“It’s coming on to blow!” exclaimed the lad. “Good! That will clear
away the fog and I can see where I am. Maybe I can sight the _Sherman_!”
It was this same puff of wind that brought hope to the hearts of Bob,
the professor, and Judd aboard the life raft.
“What did you think you saw?” asked the sailor, as Bob uttered his
exclamation at the sight of something through a rift in the fog.
“I saw a ship! A ship with camouflaged sides!” exclaimed the stout lad.
“It’s the _Sherman_! Right ahead there! Look! There where the fog is
breaking again!”
[Illustration: “I SAW A SHIP!” EXCLAIMED THE STOUT LAD. “RIGHT AHEAD
THERE!”]
Even Professor Snodgrass looked. For a moment after Bob had first
spoken the fog had closed in, shutting out the momentary view he had
had. Now the wind freshened, the fog blew away, and he pointed at what
he had seen.
“It is a ship!” exclaimed the professor.
“But not the _Sherman_!” cried Judd. “That’s an abandoned vessel! The
derelict, I do believe, that crashed into us!”
“Ahoy there! Ahoy the derelict!” shouted Bob, standing up and waving
his arms.
The fog rapidly blew away. The wind caught the sail on the life raft,
and the mass moved forward. Judd quickly thrust an oar through a staple
at the stern made for the purpose, and began to steer. They approached
the strange, silent vessel that now loomed in front of them.
“It is a derelict,” said Bob in a low voice. “There isn’t a soul on
board.”
Nearer and nearer they approached. Bob and the sailor joined their
voices in a shout.
“It’s just possible some one may be there,” said the stout lad.
They were near enough now to look across the broken rails--to note the
damage done to the craft. And then, as they shouted again, they saw a
figure running along the deck.
“Some one is there! Some one is there!” cried Bob, greatly excited.
“Ahoy! Ahoy!” shouted the sailor.
“Now I shall be able to get some paper for my crab notes,” murmured the
professor.
The figure on the derelict leaned over the side and waved a frantic
welcome.
“Bob! Professor!” a voice shouted.
“Why--why--he knows us!” gasped the stout lad. “Who can it be?”
A moment later the mist completely cleared away and the setting sun
shone clearly. Bob saw who was aboard the derelict and cried in delight.
“Jerry! Jerry boy! It’s Jerry Hopkins! Oh, what luck!”
And a moment later the life raft grated gently against the side of the
_Altaire_. The refugees were reunited.