ALMOST RUN DOWN
It grew dark rapidly and the night fell on three lonely, wet, hungry
boys, rolling along in a disabled boat under what was surely one of the
queerest rigs ever devised. It answered its purpose, though, and under
her "jury mast" the Flying Fish actually made some headway through the
water.
None of the boys said much, and Tubby, under the cover of the darkness,
tightened his capacious belt. It spoke volumes for his Boy Scout
training that, though he probably felt the pangs of hunger as much or
even more keenly than the others, he made no complaint. Hiram, the
second-class scout, complained a bit at first, but soon quieted down
under Merritt's stern looks; as for the latter, as corporal of the
Eagle Patrol, it was his duty to try to keep as cheerful as possible;
which, under the circumstances, was about as hard a task as could well
be imagined.
The eyes of all three were kept strained ahead for some sign of a
light, for they had been so tossed about in the squall that all sense
of direction had been lost, and they had no compass aboard, which in
itself was a piece of carelessness.
Suddenly, after about an hour of "going it blind" in this fashion,
young Hiram gave a shout.
"A light, a light!"
"Where?" demanded Tubby and Merritt sharply.
"Off there," cried the lad, pointing to the left, over the port side of
the boat.
Both the elder lads gazed sharply.
"That's not the direction in which land would lie," mused Tubby.
"The light's pretty high up, too, isn't it?" suggested Merritt. "It
might be a lighthouse. We may have been blown farther than we thought."
Tubby offered no opinion for a few seconds, but his ordinarily round
and smiling face grew grave. A sudden apprehension had flashed into
his mind.
"Tell me, Merritt," he said, "can you see any other lights?"
"No," replied Merritt, after peering with half closed eyes at the white
light.
"I can," suddenly shouted young Hiram.
"You can?"
"Yes; some distance below the white light I can see a green one to the
right and a red one on the left."
"Shades of Father Neptune!" groaned Tubby. "It's just as I thought,
Merritt--that light yonder is a steamer's mast lantern, and the fact
that Hiram can see both her port and starboard lamps beneath shows that
she's coming right for us."
This was alarming enough. Without lanterns, without the means of
making any noise sufficiently loud to attract the attention of those on
the approaching vessel, the occupants of the Plying Fish were in about
as serious a predicament as one could imagine. To make matters worse,
the wind began to drop and come in puffs which only urged the Flying
Fish ahead slowly. Tubby made a rapid mental calculation, and decided
that hardly anything short of a miracle could save them from being run
down, unless the steamer saw them and changed her course.
"Can't we shout and make them hear us?" asked Hiram in an alarmed
voice. He saw from the troubled faces of both the elder lads that
something serious indeed was the matter.
"We might try it," responded Tubby, with a bitter shrug. "But it's
about as much use as a mouth organ in a symphony orchestra would be.
Better get on the life belts."
With hands that trembled with the sense of impending disaster, the
three boys strapped on the cork jackets.
"Now all shout together," said Merritt, when this was done.
Standing erect, the three young castaways placed their hands
funnel-wise to their mouths and roared out together:
"Ship ahoy! St-eam-er a-hoy!"
They were alarmed and not ashamed to admit it.
"No good," said Tubby, after they had roared themselves hoarse. "When
she strikes us, jump over the starboard bow and dive as deep as you
can. If you don't, the propellers are liable to catch us."
It was a grim prospect, and no wonder the boys grew white and their
faces strained as the impending peril bore down on them.
They could now see that she was a large vessel--a liner, to judge from
the rows of lighted portholes on her steep black sides. Her bow lights
gleamed like the eye of some monster intent on devouring the Flying
Fish and her occupants. On and on she came. The air trembled with the
vibration of her mighty engines, and a great white "'bone" foamed up at
her sharp prow.
Not one of the boys spoke as the vessel came nearer and nearer,
although it speedily grew evident that unless a wind sprang up or the
lookout saw them, it was inevitable that they would be cut in two
amidships.
"Remember what I said," warned Tubby, in a strange, strained voice.
"Dive deep and stay tinder as long as you can."
And now the great vessel seemed scarcely more than two or three boat
lengths from the tiny cockleshell on which she was bearing down. As a
matter of fact, though, her towering bulk made her appear much nearer
than she actually was.
"Can't we do anything, Merritt?" gasped Hiram, with chattering teeth.
"We might try shouting once more," suggested Tubby in a voice that
quivered in spite of his efforts to keep it steady.
"All together now--come on!"
"Ship ahoy! You'll run us down! St-eam-er a-hoy!"
Suddenly there were signs of confusion on the bow of the big vessel.
Men could be seen running about and waving their arms.
"By hookey, they've seen us!" breathed Merritt, hardly daring to
believe it, however.
The others were speechless with suspense.
Suddenly from the bow of the oncoming steamer a great fan-shaped ray of
dazzling light shot out and enveloped the boys and their boat in its
bewildering radiance.
"Hard over, hard over!" the boys could hear the lookout roaring, and
the command rang hoarsely back along the decks to the wheelhouse.
Slowly, very slowly, as if reluctant to give up her prey, the bow of
the mighty liner swung off, and the boys were safe.
"Look out for the wash," warned Merritt, as the great black bulk,
pierced with hundreds of glowing portholes, ploughed regally by them,
her deck crowded with curious passengers. A voice shouted down from
the bridge:
"What in blazing sea serpents are you doing out here in that marine oil
stove?"
The boys made no attempt to reply. They had all they could do to hang
on, as the Flying Fish danced about like a drifting cork in the wash of
the great vessel. They could see, however, that several of her
passengers were clustered at her stern rail, gazing wonderingly down at
them in great perplexity, no doubt, as to what manner of craft it was
that they had so narrowly escaped sending to the bottom. For had the
vessel even grazed the Flying Fish, the small boat would have been
annihilated without those on board the liner even feeling a tremor. It
would have been just such a tragedy as happens frequently to the
fishing dories on the foggy Newfoundland banks.
"Wh-ew!" gasped Merritt, sinking down on a locker. "That was a narrow
escape if you like it!"
"I don't like it," remarked Tubby sententiously, mopping his forehead,
on which beads of cold perspiration had stood out while their
destruction had seemed inevitable. So thoroughly unnerved were the
lads, in fact, by their experience that it was some time before they
could do anything more than sit limply on the lockers while the Flying
Fish rolled aimlessly with an uncontrolled helm.
"Come on," said Tubby at length; "we've got to rouse ourselves. In the
first place, I've got an idea," he went on briskly. "I've been
thinking over that gasoline stoppage, and the more I think of it the
more I am inclined to believe that there's something queer about it.
It's worth looking into, anyhow."
"You mean you think there may be some fuel in the tank, after all?"
asked Merritt, looking up.
"It's possible. Have you tried the little valve forward of the
carburetor?"
"Why, no," rejoined Merritt; "but I hardly think--"
"It wouldn't be the first time a carburetor had fouled, particularly
after what we went through in that squall," remarked Tubby. "It's
worth trying, anyhow."
He bent over the valve he had referred to, which was in the gasoline
feed pipe, just forward of the carburetor, and placed there primarily
for draining the tank when it was necessary.
"Look here!" he yelled, with a sudden shout of excitement. "No," he
cried the next moment, "I don't want to waste it--but when I opened the
valve a stream of gasoline came out. There's plenty of it. That
stoppage is in the carburetor. Oh, what a bunch of idiots we've been!"
"Better sound the tank," suggested Merritt; "what came out of the valve
might just be an accumulation in the pipe."
"Not much," rejoined the other, "it came out with too much force for
that, I tell you. It was flowing from the tank, all right."
"We'll soon find out," proclaimed Merritt. "Give me the sounding stick
out of that locker, Hiram."
Armed with the stick, Merritt rapidly unscrewed the cap of the fuel
tank and plunged the sounder into it.
"There's quite a lot of gasoline in there yet," he exclaimed, with
sparkling eyes, as he withdrew and felt the wet end of the instrument.
The carburetor was rapidly adjusted. The rough tossing about the
Flying Fish had received had jammed the needle valve, but that was all.
Presently all was in readiness to get under way once more with the
little boat's proper motive power. The "jury rig" was speedily
dismantled Merritt swung the flywheel over two or three times, and a
welcome "chug, chug!" responded.
"Hurray! she's working," cried Hiram.
"As well as ever," responded Merritt. "Now for the shore. By the
way," he broke off in a dismayed tone, "where is the shore?"
"I know now," rejoined Tubby in a confident tone. "Off there to the
right. You see, that steamer was hugging the coast preparatory to
heading seaward--at least, I'm pretty sure she was, and that would put
the shore on her port side, or on our starboard."
They chugged off in the direction Tubby indicated, and before long a
joyful cry from Hiram announced the sudden appearance of lights.
"What are they?" asked Merritt.
"Don't know--they look like bonfires," rejoined the other lad. "I
wonder if we have been lucky enough to pick up Topsail Island?"
As they drew nearer the lads soon saw that it was the island that they
were approaching, and that the lights they had seen were campfires
ignited by order of the anxious young Patrol leader to guide them back.
In a short time they had anchored the Flying Fish opposite the camp,
and jumped into the dinghy left at her moorings when they embarked.
"A fine scare you've given us," cried Rob, as they landed and flung
down their afternoon's catch. "We were afraid for a time that you were
lost in that black squall--it blew two of our tents down, and we were
mighty anxious about you, I can tell you."
"You did not alarm our folks?" asked Hiram anxiously.
"No, I thought that it would be best to wait. Somehow, I thought you'd
turn up safe. Where on earth have you been and what has happened? You
look as pale as three ghosts."
"Towed to sea by a shark--caught in a squall--almost run down by a
liner--and so hungry we can't talk now," sputtered out Tubby
comprehensively.
"All right; come on up to the fire and get dried out and pitch into the
grub."
After such a meal as it may be imagined the young scouts indulged in,
they told their whole yarn of their adventures to the listening Patrol.
A short time after they concluded--so long had it taken to relate
everything and answer all questions--the mournful call of "Taps"
sounded and it was time to turn in. Little Digby alone, who was to do
sentry service, remained on duty.
Merritt's dreams were a strange jumble. It seemed to him that he was
being towed to sea on the back of a huge shark, by a big liner with a
row of blazing portholes that winked at him like facetious eyes.
Suddenly, just as it seem he was about to slip off the marine monster's
slippery back, he thought he heard a loud cry of "Help, scouts!"
So vivid was the dream and so real the cry that he awoke trembling, and
listened intently while peering out through the tent flap.
There was no sound, however, but the ripple of the waves on the beach
and the "hoot hoot" of an owl somewhere back in the woods on the island.
"Funny," mused the boy, as he turned over and dozed off again, "that
certainly sounded loud enough to have been a real, sure enough call for
help."