Taking Help to Marooned Islanders
Jimmy obeyed the command with alacrity. There was nothing else to do. In
a moment he was flying on precisely the same course he had followed in
coming to the island from Smithville. Soon he was beyond Duck Island and
heading for Prince Edward, that great, bold Canadian peninsula that
thrusts out far into the lake. A long point of land reached straight out
toward Duck Island. Jimmy could see this point easily, for it was hardly
more than a dozen miles in an air-line. At some distance from the end of
this point were small islands, and they were almost in Jimmy’s line of
flight. Five or eight minutes of flying would take him to land again, so
he had no apprehensions about the short flight over this reach of open
lake.
But Jimmy wasn’t at all comfortable in his mind about other aspects of
the situation. If the bootlegger wanted simply to be carried across to
Canada because his own plane had gone bad, that was one thing. Jimmy
didn’t in the least object to ferrying a man over a dozen miles of
lake—even a bootlegger—if the man was in trouble. But would that be
the end of the matter?
Now that the bootlegger’s own plane was out of commission, he might
decide to take Jimmy’s. That wasn’t such a pleasant prospect. But there
was still another angle to the situation. If the man seized the plane,
would he not almost necessarily feel compelled to get rid of the
evidence of his crime? In short, would he not find it expedient to get
rid of Jimmy? When Jimmy thought of the old saying, so commonly quoted
by criminals, that “dead men tell no tales,” he could feel the cold
shivers run up and down his spine.
Jimmy wanted to turn around and talk to his captor. He felt as though a
bullet might come crashing through his back at any instant. It seemed to
him that he simply must look around and face the bootlegger. Yet he
hesitated. The man had told him to fly straight on. That was evidently
what the fellow wanted—to get to his destination. He was getting there,
and he seemed satisfied. Jimmy decided that the best course was to
attend to his flying and make careful note of the country over which he
passed, together with the compass bearings, rate of speed, prominent
landmarks, etc., so that if he had the opportunity to fly back, he could
find his way. So he centred his whole attention on the matter of
navigation and soon found that he felt relieved in mind. He could think
better. He was not so oppressed by fear.
But Jimmy had far less time for thought than he had anticipated. In six
or seven minutes he had reached the tip of the Prince Edward peninsula,
and in twenty minutes he was over the very heart of this body of land.
Still he kept on as straight as the crow flies.
Now, for the first time, his unwelcome passenger spoke. “Set her down in
the open space just ahead,” he said gruffly.
Jimmy eased his plane toward the ground and throttled down his engine.
The uniform whiteness of the snow made it difficult for him to
distinguish the contour of the ground. But as he came lower, he saw that
there was a great, smooth area ahead of him that had quite evidently
been used for landing planes. The snow was streaked with the long
parallel marks of giant skis. Jimmy picked out a pair of ski marks and
set his ship down safely almost in the very treads he was watching. The
plane slid safely to rest. The landing ground was in a lonely region,
and not a house or a human being was in sight.
“Get out,” said the man brusquely.
Jimmy stepped from the plane. His captor followed.
“Now that you succeeded in tracking me down, what do you intend to do
with your information?” he demanded, as he toyed with his revolver
suggestively.
“Tracking you down!” exclaimed Jimmy, amazed. “I don’t even know what
you are talking about. I never saw you before, never heard of you, and
certainly never tried to trail you. Where did you get that idea?”
The man looked at him uncertainly. “Ain’t you one of them government
prohibition agents?” he asked.
A great light dawned upon Jimmy’s mind. He actually laughed. “That’s a
good one,” he exclaimed. “So you took me for a ‘dry’ agent. No, I’m not
a government agent. I’m a newspaper reporter. I represent the New York
_Morning Press_. Look at the name on the side of my ship.”
“I can’t read,” said the man. “It makes no difference if you are a
newspaper man. You was on my trail.”
“You’ve got another guess,” said Jimmy. “I flew up here to carry
medicines to some people on Duck Island who are sick. We just got a
newspaper despatch telling about them. There’s a whole family dying over
there because they lack medicine. Nobody could get to them because of
the ice. My boss used to live up this way, and when he read the despatch
he sent me up to help them.”
The bootlegger looked at Jimmy intently. “You don’t look like you was
lyin’,” he said.
“Of course I’m not lying,” protested Jimmy.
“Here’s the medicine.” And stepping into the plane, he picked up the
bulky package he had been transporting and opened it.
The rum runner looked at it and then at Jimmy. “Say, kid,” he blurted
out suddenly, “you’re all right. To think you’d come clean from New York
and risk your life flyin’ over the lake just to help some sick folks. By
Joe! I’ll look in on them folks myself, next time I go over the island.
If they need help, they need it quick I reckon. So you’d better be on
your way. I’m much obliged for the ride. Maybe this’ll square things
with you.” And he reached into his pocket, pulled out a huge roll of
bills, peeled off a one hundred dollar gold certificate and thrust it
into Jimmy’s hand. “Now you better hustle,” he said.
Jimmy was too much astonished for words. He did not want to take the
man’s money. He wanted less to cross the fellow, for the rum runner was
quite evidently a desperate character. Wisely, Jimmy decided to go while
the going was good. He handed the bill back to the man.
“Thanks,” he said. “It will be worth more to me if you will look after
those people on the island. Spend the money for them. I probably can’t
get up here again. Good-bye.” And climbing into his plane, Jimmy was off
as soon as he could lift his ship from the snow. He opened his throttle
wide. In a minute he was far away, beyond the possible range of any
pursuing bullet that might come his way. He breathed freely again, and
flew straight as an arrow back toward the island.
Once fairly aloft, Jimmy began to meditate on his adventure. Suddenly an
idea came to him. “Gee!” he thought. “I’m sure glad this was such an
isolated place we landed in. I don’t believe there was a soul within
miles. It was a good thing, too. Nobody could get my license number. If
any one had noticed it, I might get into a jam with the Canadian
officials for landing on Canadian soil without clearing the customs.
Well, I guess I had a good excuse, anyway. But just the same, I’m glad
nobody could get my number.”
As he approached the island, he saw a group of people clustered about
the bootlegger’s airplane. They were examining it carefully. Evidently
they had been much mystified by what had taken place. They came
thronging eagerly about Jimmy’s plane as he set it down in the snow.
Jimmy stepped from his ship, with the medicines in his hand. “I am from
the New York _Morning Press_,” he said. “We received a despatch a few
hours ago from Smithville, saying that you were cut off here by the ice
and that people were very sick with pneumonia and lacked medicines. My
paper has sent you the drugs you need, and some directions for using
them.”
When Jimmy saw the expressions of gratitude that came on the faces of
the people about him, he felt that he was more than repaid for anything
he had done or could do to help them.
“Come with us,” they said. “We want you to talk to some of the people
that are in trouble.”
Jimmy went with them. Neighbors were caring for the stricken family. One
or two of the ailing ones were too sick to be seen. But Jimmy was able
to talk briefly to the mother of the family and the oldest boy. He got
from them their story, which was a startling tale in itself. The entire
family of seven—father, mother, and five children—had gone, some days
previously, to pay a visit to friends on the mainland. The lake was not
then frozen so solidly. There were wide, open leads of water, which made
it easily possible to reach the mainland. The visit lasted several days.
Just before the return home, the great cold wave came. When they were
half-way to the island, their motor went dead. A storm came up, and they
drifted helplessly before it for twelve hours. The waves washed into
their boat until they were all drenched. They could do nothing but sit
in their boat and pray that the ice would not crush it. Their situation
had finally been discovered, and hardy neighbors, taking their lives in
their hands, had launched the most powerful boat on the island and
fought their way to them. Thus their lives were saved for the time
being, although every one of the seven was stricken with pneumonia, and
it looked as though two of the seven might die. There was just a chance
that the arrival of the medicine might arrest the disease.
Jimmy was powerfully affected by this recital. He had seldom been so
close to human suffering. Never had he been in touch with people so
pitifully situated as these folks had been. Glad, indeed, was he that he
had attempted the journey, and that there were great newspapers like his
own, to take upon themselves the relief of suffering and the righting of
wrong when other agencies failed.
One thing was sure, Jimmy thought. These suffering ones certainly must
have medical treatment. And so, taking a hasty departure, he flew back
to Smithville and got into touch with his chief, setting the story
before him fully.
“Get a doctor and rush him to the island,” Mr. Johnson wired back.
Jimmy secured the only physician in the neighborhood, loaded the doctor
and the necessary supplies in his plane, and was soon back on the
island. The medical assistance came in time. The doctor was able to give
immediate treatments and to leave directions for further care.
As for Jimmy himself, nothing was too good for him on the island. The
inhabitants would have given him almost anything he asked for, so
grateful were they for his efforts in their behalf. But Jimmy wanted
nothing. He was more than repaid by their gratitude and their
friendship.
It was with real regret that Jimmy said goodbye to these new-found
friends. He was amazed to see how rapidly a mutual feeling of regard had
sprung up between these people and himself in such a short time. He
understood, of course, that this was because of the unusual conditions
under which they had come to know one another. When the time for
departure came, he shook hands with them all, promised to come back to
the island some time, and then ferried his doctor back to Smithville.
And now he went winging his way home across the great Empire State, to
his old quarters at the Long Island flying field.
Weeks later Jimmy learned that the rescue efforts he had set in motion
had been wholly successful. Every one of the seven sufferers had
recovered. But more astonishing than that was the news that for a week
after Jimmy’s departure, the sick islanders had daily treatment from the
Smithville physician. The rum runner from Canada had flown the physician
back and forth every day, as long as it was necessary, in a new plane,
and had concluded the matter by paying the doctor handsomely for his
services.
Jimmy mused over this for quite a while. “It just shows,” he concluded,
“that the poet was right when he said there is so much bad in the best
of us and so much good in the worst of us that we ought to be mighty
careful what we say about anybody.”