The Boy With the U. S. Life-Savers Part 23

And, in similar fas.h.i.+on, the officer took up each little detail, dealing with the first-cla.s.s men after they had shown what they could do. From that test of responsibility many of the cadets came down, white-lipped.

It was a striking test of a lad's character as well as of his abilities.

Some daring youths would shape as close a course as possible, shaving dangers by the narrowest margin. They were reminded that if a Coast Guard cutter touched bottom, no matter how lightly, even without the slightest injury, there would be an investigation. If it were found that the officer in charge had been guilty of negligence, even in the smallest degree, court martial was possible.

Other cadets, again, timid by nature or not sure of the course, would steer a long way round. They would be reminded of wastage and also of the fact that in rescue work, minutes, even seconds, might mean everything. If, under the test, a cadet showed ignorance of his duties, then he was in for a grilling.

In gunnery, Eric did not s.h.i.+ne. He could always work out the necessary problems of elevating the gun to the right height and figuring out the drop of a sh.e.l.l of a certain weight at a certain distance. Yet, in spite of himself, there was always some little trick he could not catch. That was Van Sluyd's specialty. He had the "feel" of it, some way, and by the end of his third year he was as expert in gunnery as Eric was in seamans.h.i.+p. In the handling of a s.h.i.+p Eric was easily the best in his cla.s.s. It was not until nearly the end of this third and last cruise on the _Itasca_, however, that he found his opportunity for personal distinction.

It was a dark, blowy night. Eight bells of the second dog watch had only been struck a few minutes before and the officers were chatting after dinner. Eric was on duty on the bridge with the second lieutenant, when the wireless sending apparatus began to buzz "S O S," "S O S," as the operator relayed a message he evidently had just received. At the same moment the shrill whistle of the speaking-tube that connects the bridge with the wireless room was heard.

"You may answer, Mr. Swift," the lieutenant said.

Eric picked up the tube, answered "h.e.l.lo!" and then repeated the operator's words to the officer:

"Liner _Kirkmore_, on fire and sinking, forty-one degrees, eleven minutes north; thirty-five, sixteen west; crew and pa.s.sengers to boats."

With a word to Eric, the lieutenant dispatched the messenger to report to the captain, plotted the position of the _Kirkmore_ on the chart, and, less than two minutes after the receipt of the wireless message, the _Itasca_ had changed her course and was speeding under forced draught into the night. The cutter had broadcasted the call and word had been received from land stations and other vessels that the call had been heard. Still the _Itasca_ was one of the nearest to the reported location of the vessel in distress and she fairly hissed through the water.

Presently there was another message from the wireless room, and, as before, Eric took up the speaking tube and reported to the officer of the deck.

"'Very strange thing, sir,' he repeated, after the operator, 'I'm picking up a faint call from a small apparatus. I think it must be on one of the boats. The _Lucania_ is racing for the _Kirkmore_, I've picked up her call.'"

"Ask him what he considers strange?" said the officer.

Eric put the query and again repeated:

"He says, sir: 'It's this way, sir. The first call stated that all the pa.s.sengers and crew had taken to the boats.'"

"Well?"

"That call has been repeated several times and every one picked it up that way. Then there's a message coming from the boats, giving just where they are."

"That all seems straight enough."

"Yes, sir. But the operator says the wireless is still working on the s.h.i.+p!"

"On the _Kirkmore_?"

"Yes, sir. And Jenkins says he is sure that it's not the regular operator. It's an amateur."

"That sounds as if there were some people still left on the s.h.i.+p. Ask him what the message is?"

Eric transmitted the request.

"He says it's the same call, sir, exactly."

"The first one?"

"Yes, sir. That every one is in the boats. Only he says it's given jerkily and very slow."

"Find out what you can about it, Mr. Swift."

"Yes, sir."

Eric ran down to the wireless room.

"Acts like a man who doesn't know much about wireless, sir. I'm sure, sir, that it couldn't be the operator, not even on a tramp steamer.

There's hardly an amateur who would make such a mess of it," said the operator.

"What does he say?" asked Eric. "Can't you get word to him?"

"No, sir. That's what's puzzling me. I've called and called, and he pays no attention."

"Do you suppose your sending apparatus is in good order?"

"Yes, sir," the operator replied. "Working perfectly. There's two or three other s.h.i.+ps calling the _Kirkmore_, and she doesn't answer them either. I've talked to most o' them, sir."

"Who's the nearest?"

"We seem to be nearest to the s.h.i.+p, sir," said the operator, "but the _Lucania_ is the nearest to the boats. They seem quite a bit to the south'ard."

"Running into the line of travel, I suppose," said Eric. "What do you think is the meaning of that call?" he added.

"I think, sir," said the operator, "somebody must have been forgotten and left behind."

"But why doesn't he answer?"

"Maybe the receiving apparatus is broken down. There it is again, sir,"

the Coast Guard operator paused. "No, sir, it's not the operator. I don't think I could even tell what he means if it hadn't been gone over so often."

"Well," the captain said, when Eric reported the circ.u.mstances, "if the _Lucania_ is nearer the boats than we are, and we are nearer the s.h.i.+p, we'd better find out who's sending that call."

"Yes, sir," Eric answered formally.

In the meantime the knowledge of the disaster had spread through the s.h.i.+p, and there was much excitement, when, one point off the port bow, the glare of the burning steamer showed against the murk of midnight.

Every one not on duty, and those on duty who were able, ran to the port rail. As the _Itasca_ steamed on, under forced draught, quivering as her engines throbbed under her, the flare on the bow increased in brightness. In half an hour's time it could be quite clearly made out as a steamer on fire, the dense cloud of smoke being illumined from below by the glare of the flames.

"I hope the operator was wrong. If there is anybody on board," said Eric, in a low voice, to his friend Homer, "they wouldn't have much chance."

"Is the call still coming?" his chum asked.

"No," Eric answered, "nothing for twenty minutes."

The Coast Guard cutter speedily raised the hull of the burning steamer.

Her stern was much higher out of water than her bow, and amids.h.i.+ps she was all aflame, belching up dense volumes of smoke.

A message came into the radio room.

"The _Lucania_ reports that she has picked up three of the boats," said the operator through the tube to the first lieutenant on the bridge.