The excitement of the dash for the embattling ships left the _Colodia’s_
company no thought for anything else. Even dinner had been
half-neglected, although that came early in the race.
As for weather indications or the like, nobody thought of such things.
And here suddenly appeared a phenomenon that bade fair to help the
Germans and place the destroyer in a less confident position.
The American ship had arrived just in time to save the _Ferret_; her
upperworks were badly wrecked although providentially the wireless
outfit of the British ship was not crippled.
One of her guns was put out of commission and a shell under the stern
had knocked out the propeller just as the Colodia entered the fight. She
swung now to the slow current, and as the destroyer rushed past her the
British crew could only cheer her on. Their work was done--and done
well!
But here came a cloud rolling along the surface of the sea from the
south that offered shelter for the raider, the prow of which was already
turned in that direction. The German had no intention of remaining to
fight the battle out with the guns of the destroyer.
The raider was not, of course, any match for the American naval vessel.
It was the part of wisdom for her to run. Besides, she was already
crippled, and it would have been but a matter of a few minutes before
she would either have to capitulate or be sunk had she continued in the
fight. The _Colodia_ might even have kept out of range of the raider’s
guns, circled about the German, and destroyed her at pleasure. Or she
could have sent a torpedo against the pirate ship and blown her to bits.
Here, however, fortune helped the enemy. The cloud of fog laid along the
surface of the sea offered the _Sea Pigeon_ refuge. She proved again
that she was a “wary bird!”
Into the cloud she dashed, and where she went after that--although the
fog bank was low--the lookouts of the _Colodia_ could not tell.
“If we only had a hydroplane to send up!” said Whistler Morgan to his
chums. “The time will come when every destroyer will have its pair of
hydroplanes for observation. From a thousand feet up, that fog would
never shelter the raider. The hydroplane could signal us the raider’s
position and we’d follow her just as though it were clear weather.”
In this case, however, the commander of the destroyer did not wish to
desert the _Ferret_ until he had learned her condition. The _Colodia_
described a wide circle and steamed back within hailing distance of the
crippled British ship.
Fortunately there were no women or other passengers aboard this vessel.
Her wounded were few, too. The hull of the craft had not suffered.
Already her machinists were at work on the propeller. They had new
blades in the hold, and the end of the shaft was not injured. They
proposed to sweat on the new propeller, make such other repairs as were
necessary, and then attempt to limp into the Bermuda station under her
own steam.
“You can’t beat those fellows!” said Ensign MacMasters admiringly. “The
merchant sailors nowadays have more to face than we do, and with less
chance of getting safely out of a scrimmage. I wouldn’t want to be
hobbling along in that cripple to the Bermudas with that German pirate
in the vicinity.”
Just where the _Sea Pigeon_ had gone behind the fog they could only
surmise. But Commander Lang ordered a course south by west, hoping that
the raider would turn up again.
Phil Morgan and George Belding had time to think of the _Redbird_ and
her precious freight once more. It was little satisfaction for either to
know that Sparks and his assistants were on the lookout for messages
from the sailing ship.
Nothing came up that night to give the anxious boys any satisfaction.
Sparks reported nothing in the morning. But as the hour drew near when
the mysterious messages usually came over, both Belding and Whistler
Morgan hung about the door of the radio room.
The radio chief knew just how anxious they were and he did not scold
them. Soon after dinner he sent George to the bench to try to pick up
the uncertain sounds that he believed came from the _Redbird’s_
wireless.
George could only get a letter now and then. The sending--if it was
it--was weaker than before. In desperation the youth began to send
himself:
“I,I,I, (aye,aye,aye) Colodia!”
He repeated this over and over again. An hour passed before he got what
seemed to be a direct answer. Then:
“Colodia! Help! Redbird!”
Belding fairly shouted aloud in his excitement. But when he turned to
see Mr. Sparks and the others at the door watching him, he subsided and
began to send calmly:
“Give position! Give position! Redbird, give position!”
This went on for some time, and then he caught the grating and uncertain
sound of what he was confident was his sister’s sending. He tuned his
instrument up and down the scale before getting the best adjustment. Out
of the air he finally received letters which he wrote down falteringly
and passed to Mr. Sparks and Whistler. While the message was being
repeated the radio man and Phil Morgan made out the following paragraph:
“Ship Redbird for Bahia seized by German mutineers. Position, lat. 17,
long. 59. Help!--L. Belding.”
“It’s Lilian, all right! Hurray!” exclaimed Whistler, and Belding heard
him.
The latter was now repeating, again and again, the announcement that the
_Colodia_ heard the message and was coming. Sparks hurried away to seek
Commander Lang with the news. The position of the sailing ship was
within easy reach of the destroyer.
But the messages stopped suddenly. Not another word came from the
_Redbird_. Belding came away from the instrument at last, feeling
anything but hopeful.
“Something’s happened to her,” he whispered to Morgan. “I fear Lilian
has got into trouble by her work at the _Redbird’s_ wireless. What do
you think, Phil?”
“I am not going to lose hope. We will find the ship and rescue our folks
from the mutineers. Don’t doubt it, George!”
It was difficult to keep up their courage, however, when there was so
much uncertainty regarding the sailing ship’s condition. It might be,
too, that the latitude and longitude was several points off. A full
degree is sixty miles, and sixty miles is a long way across the ocean!
Just before dark they raised the smoke of a steamer ahead and sailing
athwart the destroyer’s course. This surely could not be the _Redbird_;
yet the destroyer could not allow the stranger to pass without
investigation.
Her radio could get no answer from the ship. It seemed as though the
stranger was running away from the _Colodia_. Naturally suspicion was
aroused in the minds of the commander that it was the _Sea Pigeon_.
But it became a blind chase as night fell upon them. They saw no lights,
and the tropical night comes so suddenly that to have overtaken the
steamship before dark was an utter impossibility. The destroyer swung
back into her direct course for the point from which the last radio
message of the _Redbird_ was supposed to have come.