DRIFTING THROUGH THE NIGHT.
“Talk about crossing the Styx! I’ll bet it had nothing on this business
of bumping along blindly in an oarless boat in a dark cave,” thought Nat
as, sitting in the bottom of the small craft and using the seat for a
back rest, he reviewed the situation.
Every minute he dreaded to hear the roaring of the motor boat’s exhaust,
which would tell him that he was being pursued. But nothing of the sort
occurred, and before long he saw the stars shining at the mouth of the
strange subterranean tunnel.
“Thank goodness, it’s a calm night, anyhow,” he thought, as he observed
the placid, unclouded sky; “if it had come on to blow, or if a big sea
was running, I’d stand a good chance of going to Davy Jones before my
time.”
The tide ran stronger at the mouth of the cave and in a very few minutes
Nat was out under the stars and drifting seaward, whither he had no
idea. He tore out a grating from the bottom of the boat and tried to use
it as a paddle, but he made no progress with this crude substitute for
an oar and soon gave up the attempt in sheer weariness and disgust.
“I’ll have to let her drift at her own sweet will,” thought the boy,
“and trust to luck to being picked up. Wow! but I feel sleepy and heavy.
Must be the after effects of that stuff Seth said his amiable parent
gave me to put me to sleep.”
The boy fought against his drowsiness for some time; but, try as he
would, his eyes simply refused to stay open. The eyelids felt as if they
had been weighted with lead, and ere long the lone passenger of the
drifting boat was sleeping under the stars as peacefully as if in his
cot at home or on the Wireless Island.
He was awakened by a rough jolt. For a few minutes he had not the least
idea where he was, and when his senses did begin to flow back into his
sleepy brain he was considerably mystified. The boat was bumping against
a huge dark bulk which Nat, in the dimness, at first thought must be a
cliff. He was scrambling to his feet a-tingle with astonishment, when a
gruff voice hailed him from above:
“Ahoy, there! Who may you be?”
At the summit of the “cliff” appeared a head. The boy could see it
blackly outlined against the star-sprinkled sky.
In his astonishment at being accosted Nat could think of nothing to
reply but: “Nat Trevor of Santa Barbara. Who are you, and where am I?”
“I’m Captain Sim Braithwaite of the Pancake Shoals Lightship, and this
is the Lightship. Now, if you’re tired of boating, you’d better come on
board and explain yourself more explicitly.”
“The Pancake Shoals Lightship!” gasped Nat blankly. “Why, I’ve drifted
much further than I thought possible.”
“Drifted!” echoed Captain Sim in a gruff voice. “For the love of Father
Neptune, you don’t mean to say you’re skyhooting around the ocean
without oars at one o’clock in the morning?”
“That’s just what I do,” responded Nat, with an inward chuckle at the
captain’s evident amazement.
“Dear land of Beulah, you must be fond of salt water to take such
cruises! A sort of sea-going lunatic, be you now?”
“I’ll come on board and explain. It’s a long story,” said Nat.
“All right; the accommodation ladder is just for’ard of where you are.
Hitch yer boat up and come on board. Suffering tom-cats, I thought you
was a whale or something at first! We don’t git many visitors out here,
but you’re the rummest one I ever heard tell on.”
As he hitched his boat to the foot of the ladder and then began to climb
up the Lightship’s high, steep sides, Nat could hear the captain
mumbling and grumbling good-naturedly to himself.
“What’s the world coming to?” he was saying over and over. “Sea-going
lun-atics a-wandering round the good Lord’s ocean in boats without oars,
an’ bumping into lightships an—so here you are!” he broke off as Nat
nimbly climbed on board. “Why, you’re nothing but a kid! If this ain’t
the beatingest I ever heard tell of. Well, anyhow, welcome to the
Lightship and then spin us yer yarn, fer I know you have one.”
“I certainly have,” laughed Nat, “and I’m no lunatic, either, as I hope
to convince you. But you said this was a Lightship. I see the masts and
the big light cages on top, but where are the lights?”
“Ah, that’s just it, my lad. I was near crazy with worriment when you
come bumping along. Hen Coffin, he’s my partner out here, went ashore
last night on leave. He’s a fine mechanic, Hen is, and if he’d been here
the lights would have been going all right, but, Lord bless you, when
something went wrong with the engine that drives the dynamos I was
helpless as a babe unborn.”
“Maybe I can help you,” said Nat, sympathizing with the old man’s
distress. “Does a gasolene engine furnish your power?”
“Yes, consarn the pesky thing’s hide. Thank goodness, there ain’t no
steamers due up or down to-night; nothing but some coasters and steam
schooners, and they know the coast well enough to smell their way out of
trouble. But if some big steamer had come blundering along with a
foreign skipper on the bridge, phew!” And the old man wiped his forehead
on which the perspiration had broken out at the thought of the tragedy
for which the failure of the light might have been responsible.
“How do you know that no foreign vessels or big steamers are due
to-night?” asked Nat curiously.
“Why, by the wireless, of course. We gets reports from all up and down
the coast. They’re relayed from one station to another, just as we
notify all stations of the ships that pass here.”
Nat gave a joyful exclamation.
“What a bit of luck that I bumped into you!” he exclaimed jubilantly.
“It will be for me, if you can fix the engine,” said the captain, “but I
don’t see any reason for you holding a service of thanksgiving.”
“I’ll explain about that later,” said Nat. “Now let’s go below, or
wherever this engine is, and I’ll do my poor best to get it started up
again for you.”
“Bully for you, my young rooster,” cried the bluff old captain, clapping
the boy on the back. “Come this way. Right down the hatch here. Look out
for the ladder, it’s steep.”
Descending a steep flight of stairs which the captain referred to as “a
ladder,” Nat found himself in a cozy, well-lighted cabin, the illuminant
being an oil lamp which had been lighted by the captain when the dynamo
failed. There were book shelves, easy-chairs and plenty of minor
comforts all about. Evidently the Lightship men made themselves as
comfortable as possible in their lonely post.
Nat now saw that his host was a ruddy-faced, stout old seaman,
weather-beaten and bluff. A peculiarity in his gait was now also
explained, for Nat saw that one of his legs was a wooden one. But he had
small time to dwell on these details, for the captain ushered him into a
compartment opening off the “sitting room,” if it can be so called,
which smelled of oil and machinery.
“Thar she is. Thar’s the ornary, all-fired, cussed critter that won’t
turn a wheel fer old Cap’n Sim,” he said indignantly, holding aloft a
lamp.
Nat looked the engine over. It was a stationary gasolene affair of about
twenty horse power. Taking the lamp from the captain he examined it
carefully.
“Why, so far as I can see, a loose nut on the sparker has caused your
trouble,” he said, setting down the lamp, “but we’ll soon make sure.”
The boy took a wrench from the tool-rack and tightened up the loose
part. Then, throwing the switch, he tested for a spark and found that it
appeared to be all right. With a turn of the flywheel he started the
engine, a welcome “pop” greeting his first effort. In a few seconds he
had the engine whirring steadily away and the dynamo purring as it
resumed work.
“Glory be!” shouted the skipper, dancing about on his good leg. “Boy,
you’re a genius, that’s what you are. Now, let’s go on deck and start up
the lights again. It’s a wonder my hair hasn’t turned gray from
worriment, but everything’s all right now, thanks to you, my bucko.”
They soon gained the deck and the captain started to throw on the switch
that connected the lights with the dynamo below. He was in the act of
doing this, when not more than a few yards off he saw gleaming through
the dark, like brilliant jewels, a red and a green light. They were the
side lamps of a large steamer and she was coming straight for the
Lightship!
“Quick!” shouted Nat, at the top of his voice. “Cap, look! Look, there!”
“Hallelujah!” exclaimed the captain, “if those lights won’t light,
there’ll be a bad night’s work on Pancake Shoals!”
With hands that trembled he threw the switch, and the next instant the
captain and Nat set up a simultaneous and joyous shout. From the twin
mast-heads of the Lightship a brilliant glare shone out.
From the ship came shouts and hasty orders, and they saw her turn and
swing off like some live thing that had been suddenly alarmed.
“Boy,” said the captain very solemnly, “it was Providence that sent you
here to-night. You’ve done more’n help me. You’ve saved a valuable ship
and maybe some human lives, for no craft that ever went ashore on the
Pancake Shoals sailed the seas again.”