The Boys of the Wireless Part 26

"All right, Tom."

"Storm signals are out, and one of us will have to stay on duty to-night."

The sky had been overcast all the morning. Long before dusk the forewarnings of a heavy storm were discoverable, and Tom realized an impending occasion when he was expected to exercise unusual vigilance.

At dark one of the field hands came to the tower with a warm supper sent by Tom's mother. He chatted with Tom for half an hour and left in a wild flurry of wind and rain.

By eight o'clock the full fury of the gale broke on land, already dangerous at sea, as Tom had noticed for some time previous. The wind arose to a hurricane, the rain came in sheets, and at times the thunder and lightning became terrific.

Tom was in constant readiness for service. His ear was close to the receiver. He knew from experience what these tempestuous nights meant for those at sea.

Suddenly there was a sharp series of sputtering, crackling sounds. Then the receiver gave: "y-3--y-3--y-3."

Tom thrilled. It was the first time in his experience as a wireless operator that the signal most dreaded had come into Station Z, for the quickly repeated letter and its accompanying numeral meant that some vessel at sea was in dire distress.

Tom clapped the receiver to his ear, and, even before it was in place he noted the clicking of the diaphragm, which told that the electric current was operating through the magnets. Then came a snap, as when a central telephone operator accidently "rings the bell" into one's ear.

It was as though all the powerful current had concentrated itself into the receiver.

"Great Scott!" cried Tom. "With this storm I may get a shock if I'm not careful!"

He looked to his instruments, and glanced at the connections. They seemed to be in perfect order, and he was as well safeguarded as was possible.

There was a silence, and then more of the pounding in the receiver. The lad was forced to move it away from his ear, for it nearly deafened him.

"This is fierce!" he cried, as a terrific clap of thunder, following a vivid lightning flash, seemed fairly to shake the tower.

The instrument acted incoherently for the minute succeeding, and Tom could not make out the message that was coming. He sprang to the ropes that connected a tackle with the aerials aloft and ran the netting up into tune.

"She's coming clear now," said Tom.

"Y-3, off Garvey Rocks," ran the message. "Machinery broken and drifting. Send help. Steamer _Olivia_."

Tom recoiled with a shock. The _Olivia!_! That was the steamer upon which Grace Morgan and her aunt were pa.s.sengers!

CHAPTER XX-THE LAUNCH

Tom held his nerves steady, although he was somewhat shaken. His first business was to send a response to the s.h.i.+p in distress. He did not know what the facilities might be for receiving on board the steamer, but he followed usage. He had no means of knowing what other stations had caught the flying cry for help. The lifesaving station was twenty miles to the north. Station Z was the nearest wireless to Garvey Rocks by some thirty miles, and everything depended on him in the present crisis.

Tom ran to the window and looked out at the storm. It was truly a fearful night. The strong blast was bending the trees almost to the ground and sending the gravel scudding along the beach like hailstones.

Aloft the heavens were one constant glow of liquid fire, and the thunder crashes reverberated as in a hollow vault. The sea was lashed into a tremendous fury, the waves sweeping mountain high and breaking with a detonating roar that added to the babel of the night.

"I wish Ben was here," murmured Tom in deep concern. He could picture the disabled steamer vividly in his mind's eye, the more readily because his fond girl friend was in peril.

"Y-3"-again the call came, less distinct this time, but more frantic and urgent-"s.h.i.+p aleak and sinking."

"Will get help to you somehow," flashed back Tom.

He was in a tremor. Amid the strain of undue excitement Tom's thoughts ran rapidly. Only for a moment, however, did he remain inert and undecided.

"Something must be done!" he cried, in an excess of frantic anxiety and apparent helplessness. "But what? There is not a boat on the beach that could live in those waters-except the _Beulah_!"

The addendum was a shout. Tom sprang to his feet, electrically infused with a sudden suggestion.

_Beulah_ was the name of the big pretentious gasoline launch in which Bert Aldrich had arrived in state at Rockley Cove. He had bragged mightily concerning its possibilities. Tom had seen him do things with it, too. The _Beulah_ was a wonder as to speed and staunchness. A thrilling resolution fixed our hero's mind. He would arouse the people, reach Aldrich and influence him to loan the boat for an attempted rescue at sea.

Tom was down the trap ladder in one reckless slide. He ran down the sh.o.r.e buffeted, yet helped along by the powerful hurricane blast. Bert Aldrich was a guest at the home of Mart Walters and that was the prospective destination of the resolute young wireless operator.

Tom came in sight of the pier where the _Beulah_ was moored. He could make out her outlines dimly. She was hugging the pier fitfully, tossing to and fro.

"Why," exclaimed Tom with a gasp of glad discovery, "some one is on board!"

Only for a moment to his vision, apparently inside the cabin of the restless tugging craft, a flicker of radiance showed. It suggested the lighting of a match and then its extinguishment. The indication of occupancy of the launch was enough for Tom. He diverged from the road, lined the beach, ran down the pier, and jumped aboard the _Beulah_.

Rounding the cabin Tom recoiled with a shock. Some one had leaped from the covert of a deep shadow and pinned his arms behind him.

"Got you at last, have I?" shouted a determined voice in his ears.

"Hold on," demurred Tom struggling violently.

"No, you don't! I've got you, Bert Aldrich, and we're going to have a settlement of that eleven dollars and seventy-five cents right here and now."

"I'm not Bert Aldrich! Don't you know me, Bill?"

"Tom Barnes!"

"Yes."

The Barber boy let Tom go as if he were a hot coal.

"Say, excuse me, will you?" he stammered.

"That's all right, Bill. What are you doing here in this storm?"

"Waiting. Can't you guess-waiting to nail Bert Aldrich."

"It isn't likely he will show up such a night as this."

"He's a coward, but he'd risk a good deal to get away without meeting me. And what are you doing here, Tom Barnes?"

Instantly Tom was recalled to the urgency of the moment. The discovery of Bill Barber aboard the launch suggested a change in his plans.

"Bill," he asked quickly, "do you understand running this craft?"

"Do I understand?" stormed Bill; "say, if anybody but you asked me that I'd knock him down."