A violent gust of wind drove Tom up against Bill as the latter led the
way through the cabin doorway. It was with difficulty that the door was
forced shut after them.
"Stand still--hold on to something to steady yourself," ordered Bill.
"I'll have things fixed up in a minute or two."
Tom heard his companion grope about the room. Almost instantly a match
was flared and a lamp with a broad reflector illumined the place
brilliantly.
"Now then!" added Bill, all vim and activity.
He threw open a locker, and from its depths he fished out two rubber
coats and caps.
The two boys resembled old tars in their tarpaulin trim. The excitement
of the moment was intense, but every move they made was progress, and
their nerves and courage were as steady as steel.
"Can you manage the steering gear?" inquired Bill.
"I've tried it on some smaller boats than this," replied Tom.
"Well, I can do the rest--provided the storm let's us. Br--r!"
Even at anchorage the launch was swinging like an eggshell in a tempest.
Bill set the lights. Then he pointed to the seat at the side of the
craft next to the engine.
"She sparks automatically," he explained, touching a button, and there
was a whistling whir. "You control with the lever--understand?"
"Perfectly," answered Tom.
"I can pilot anywhere inside of fifty miles," boasted Bill. "Garvey
Rocks, you said?"
"Yes."
Bill took his place at the wheel. Tom released the shore tackle. Then he
was down in his seat firmly planted. The _Beulah_ made a leap like some
marine leviathan bounding out of captivity.
Tom had never had much experience with a launch, but it was sufficient,
with Bill's constantly shouted directions, to enable him to run the
engine. The thought crossed his mind that he would have the indignant
ire of Bert Aldrich to face on his return. It flitted quickly as the
peril of the _Olivia_ and his loyal girl friend aboard of the steamer
recurred to him with intensified urgency.
One plunge, obliterating all shore outlines, seemed to whirl them into a
vortex of battling, unrestrained elements. The first splash of spray,
dense and blinding, covered Bill like a veil. A great wave sent the
craft hurtling along like an arrow. Tom realized that they were bent on
a desperately dangerous venture.
"We can't line the shore; we must get out further from land," Bill
shouted back.
Bill, once past danger of sandbars and breakers, had turned the course
due southeast. On every calculation of knowledge of locality and
distances, this it seemed would be sure to bring them in direct range of
Garvey Rocks. For half an hour they drove ahead, neither speaking a
word. Then Tom fixed his eye on some moving lights shorewards. They
inspired a sudden thought, and setting the lever at steady speed he
crept forward on hands and knees along the slippery deck.
"Bill!" he shouted hoarsely.
"Hello--what's the row?" challenged Bill, amazed that Tom had deserted
his post of duty.
"Made out any lights ahead?"
"Not yet."
"Neither have I. There's some ashore, though."
"What of it?" questioned Bill.
"They are of the coaling station at Brookville. I am sure some craft is
there."
"Suppose so."
"We had better advise them of our errand. It may be a big steam tug. Two
are better than one, and the _Olivia_ may be in a desperate fix."
"If she's really on the rocks she's stove bad long before this," was the
discouraging rejoinder of Bill, sending a chill through Tom's frame.
"We could never pull the steamer off the rocks, but a larger craft
might," suggested Tom.
"What are you getting at?" asked Bill.
"I think we had better make Brookville and get the boat there, whatever
it is, in service."
"You're the boss, Tom," said Bill simply.
Tom made his way back to his seat. Soon the launch described a circle,
which, masterly as was the manoeuvre, sent the craft careening at a
perilous angle. Then they headed straight for shore.
They came alongside a steam tug just through coaling at the dock at
Brookville. The boat did not have steam up, and was moored safely for
the night. Men were moving about the deck with lanterns, making things
trim and safe. Tom had caught a grapnel on the rail of the tug and
secured it. Then he swung aboard the tug.
He ran up to a man arrayed like himself in foul weather costume, who
stood steadying himself at a hawser post, and who was giving orders to
the others. The man stared strangely at Tom's sudden appearance.
"Captain," shot out Tom tersely.
"That's me. Where did you come from? Oh, I see," and he caught sight of
the outlines of the launch. "What's the trouble?"
Tom briefly, rapidly explained the situation. In an instant he realized
that he was fortunate in finding just the kind of a man he needed. The
tug captain listened to him in breathless interest. When Tom had
concluded he rested his hand on his shoulder in a friendly way.
"You're a good one, lad, whoever you are," he said. "Sorry we're shut
down, but we'll set about steaming up in a jiffy. Garvey Rocks, you,
said?"
"Yes, sir--know them?"
"Like a book. We'll be on your trail inside of half an hour."
"It's all right!" shouted Tom, as he regained the launch. "Make straight
for the steamer, now, Bill."
"No time to lose either," was the snappy response.
The fresh start gave Bill his bearings more clearly than ever.
"I can't miss it," he declared. "Speed her up, Tom."
The young wireless operator gazed anxiously and eagerly ahead as they
dashed forward. No lights yet showed, but he knew that the shore line
described a circular sweep just beyond Brookville. They might not be far
enough out at sea yet to give them a clear view of the waters. His
anxiety, however, grew to dismal forebodings as ten, fifteen, twenty
minutes passed by, and the same blank unbroken blackness loomed ahead.
Suddenly Tom, who had been watching the motor, called out to his
companion:
"Say, Bill, you'd better come back here a minute."
"What for? I can't leave the wheel, unless it's something important."
"Well, it's important all right. I don't like the way this machinery is
acting. It doesn't seem to be sparking right, if I'm any judge."
"Great Scott! I hope nothing goes wrong in this blow. Wait a second.
I'll be with you. I'll lash the wheel. I guess it will be safe for a
little while to keep on a straight course."
Tom heard Bill tossing ropes about as he picked up some to lash the
wheel. Then he staggered into the motor room, being tossed from side to
side by the pitching of the launch.
Hardly had he reached the side of the young wireless operator, than,
with a sigh and a moan--a sort of apologetic cough--the motor ceased
working.
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Bill. "There she goes! I should say something _was_
the matter."
"What is it?" asked Tom.
"Don't know yet. I'll have to take a look. It may be the ignition, or
the carburetor, or any of half a hundred things that can happen to a
gasoline motor. I'll have to take a look."
"Should I have called you sooner?" asked Tom. "It was acting queer for
several minutes. First it would go fast and then slow."
"Well, I guess coming in any sooner wouldn't have done much good. I'll
take a look now. You'd better help me. Get the lantern and bring it
closer. We won't need any one at the wheel when we aren't moving."
The launch was now drifting about at the mercy of the wind and waves.
She fairly wallowed in the water, and it was no easy task to keep one's
footing, to say nothing of trying to get a balky motor back into
commission. But the two set about their task bravely, while the storm
raged about them.
First Bill tested the ignition system. Something was evidently wrong
with that, for there came no responsive buzz in the coil when he threw
the fly wheel over to make the connections.
"Maybe it's the make-and-break," he suggested. "I'll tinker with that."
Which he did, tightening and loosening the spring, separating and
bringing nearer the contact points. But it was useless. There was no
buzz.
"Are the batteries all right?" asked Tom.
"I'll test 'em," was the laconic answer, and in a few minutes the
announcement came: "They're good and strong. If I can get her to start
on the batteries I can swing her over onto the magneto, and we'll be all
right. But I can't get a spark."
"How about the plugs?" asked Tom.
"I'll try them next. Oh, there are plenty of things to try."
"And not much time to do 'em in," added Tom grimly, as he held the
lantern where the gleam would fall best for his companion. "This is
fierce, to be delayed this way when there are men and women--yes, maybe
children, too--who need saving!"
"Can't help it!" cried Bill. "We're doing the best we can."
With a quick motion he unscrewed the spark plugs from the cylinder
heads.
"Here's trouble already, Tom," he cried. "They're all sooted up. Now
I've got to soak 'em in gasoline and----"
"Maybe there are some spare ones aboard!" suggested the young wireless
operator. "Let's take a look. It's going to be hard work to clean these
old ones in this blow. Besides, I don't like the idea of fooling with
gasoline in an open can, and with a lantern so close."
"Neither do I. We'll see if we can't find some extra plugs."
Together they began to rummage through the lockers of the boat. Tossed
about as they were, slammed from side to side as the waves pitched the
launch, they spent a hard fifteen minutes in the hunt.
"I don't believe there are any," said Bill despondently.
"Here's a box we didn't open!" cried Tom, as he saw a small one down in
the bottom of a port locker. "Let's try that!"
In another instant he had the cover off. There, in the beams of the
lantern, he saw the gleam of white porcelain.
"Spark plugs!" cried Tom.
"New ones!" added Bill. "This is great. Now we'll move!"
Quickly he adjusted the wires, but, before screwing the plugs in the top
of the cylinders he tested them to see if there was no other break in
the ignition system.
As the wheel was swung over there came a welcome buzz from the coil, and
a tiny blue flame leaped from point to point of the spark plug, as it
lay on top of the cylinder head.
"Hurray!" yelled Tom, above the roar of the wind.
"That's it!" shouted Bill. "Now to see what happens!"
The plugs were inserted, screwed tight, and then came the test.
Steadying themselves as best they could in the rocking boat they turned
the flywheel over, Tom having thrown in the battery switch.
There was the tell-tale buzz, which told of the working of the spark
plug--a buzz and a hum, but there was no welcoming explosion. No hearty
puff from the cylinders that indicated the gasoline mixture being set
off by the spark.
"Hum!" mused Bill, as he paused to contemplate the silent motor.
"Something wrong, still?" asked Tom anxiously, gazing off across the
dark expanse of water for a possible sight of a flickering light that
would tell of the ill-fated _Olivia_. But he saw nothing.
"Well, we'll try once more," exclaimed Bill. "Hold the lantern closer,
Tom, so I can see how the timer works."
The young wireless operator obeyed. Once more the buzz and hum told of
the perfect working of the ignition system--and yet not perfect either,
for the motor was still silent, and the launch was drifting about more
helpless than ever.
"Suppose you try, Tom," suggested Bill. "Maybe you'll have better luck
than I had."
Tom handed his companion the lantern, and grasped the wheel, for there
was little use in trying the automatic starter in such a condition as
was the machinery now.
But Tom had no better success, though he strained and tugged, giving the
wheel many revolutions.
"Say!" suddenly exclaimed Bill. "The gasoline! Didn't we shut it off
when we started to see what the trouble was?"
"We sure did," agreed Tom.
"And we didn't turn it on again, I'll wager. Look at the tank valve."
"That's right!" cried Tom. "Here she comes now."
Waiting a moment for the carburetor to fill, Bill once more swung the
wheel over. They waited anxiously to see if it would continue, but with
a wheeze it gave up as soon as the muscular impetus stopped.
"Carburetor troubles!" muttered Bill. "And that's the worst kind to have
in a storm. Well, there's no help for it. Here goes to adjust it."
As is well known, many carburetors require a different adjustment in
rainy weather than in dry. It was so in this case. Bill screwed and
unscrewed the air valve and readjusted the butterfly automatic. He
admitted more gasoline, then less, giving a richer and then a thinner
mixture. After each adjustment he tried the motor, but it was not until
after about ten trials that, when both were on the point of giving up,
suddenly the motor started.
"Hurray!" cried Tom.
"It's about time," murmured Bill. "She's working better than ever now,
though," he said, as he listened to the machinery. "I'll go take the
wheel now. Watch her carefully, Tom," and he went to the helm again.
Once more they were under way, and their anxious eyes peered through the
blackness.
The storm had been bad, but now it was worse. The swift dash of the rain
formed a kind of mist. Tom's heart sank as he heard Bill at the wheel
utter a kind of impatient groan.
"What's amiss?" he shouted to the pilot.
"Something's wrong--no lights, and I may have missed my course. We'll
have to strike shore again, Tom," said Bill.
"Can't we avoid wasting the time?" inquired Tom.
"There may be no chance for the ship to show lights," suggested Bill, in
his broad blunt way. "Maybe the _Olivia_ has gone down."
"Oh, surely not that!" cried Tom. "There--there!"
"Good!" chorused Bill, in a gladsome shout; "it must be the _Olivia_!"
Directly ahead, but high up in the air, a brilliant rocket had pierced
the gloom of the tempestuous night.