The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol by Robert Drake
R >>
Robert Drake >> The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11
"There, she'll ride for a while, anyhow," breathed Tubby, when
this was done.
"What's to be done now?" shouted Merritt in his car.
"Nothing," was the response; "we've got to lie here till this
thing blows over."
"It's breaking a little to the south now," exclaimed Merritt,
pointing to where a rift began to appear in the solid cloud
curtain.
This was cheering news, and even the seasick but plucky Hiram,
who had been bailing for all he was worth, despite his misery,
began to cheer up.
"Hurrah! I guess the worst of our troubles are over," cried
Tubby. "It certainly looks as if the sea was beginning to go
down, and the wind has dropped, I'm sure."
That this was the case became apparent shortly. There was a
noticeable decrease in the size and height of the waves and the
wind abated in proportion. In half an hour after the rift had
been first noticed by Merritt, the black squall had passed, and
the late afternoon sun began to shine in a pallid way through the
driving cloud masses.
The lads, however, were still in a serious fix. They had been
driven so far out to sea that the land was blotted out
altogether. All about them was only the still heaving Atlantic.
The sun, too, was westering fast, and it would not be long before
darkness fell.
Without gasoline and with no sail, they had no means of making
land. Worse still, they were in the track of the in and
out-bound steamers to and from New York--according to Tubby's
reckoning--and they had no lights.
"Well, we seem to have got out of the frying pan into the fire,"
said Merritt in a troubled voice. "It's the last time I'll ever
come out without lights and a mast and sail."
"That's what they all say," observed Tubby grimly. "The thing to
do now is to get back to shore somehow. Maybe we can rig up a
sail with the cockpit cover and the oars. We've got to try it,
anyhow."
After hauling in the sea anchor, the lads set to work to rig up
and lash the oars into an A shape. The canvas was lashed to each
of the arms of the A, and the contrivance then set up and secured
to the fore and aft cleats by the mooring line they had utilized
for the sea anchor.
"Well," remarked Tubby, as he surveyed his handiwork with some
satisfaction and pride, "we can go before the wind now, anyhow--even
if we do look like a lost, strayed or stolen Chinese junk."
"Say, I'm so hungry I could eat one of those fish raw!" exclaimed
Hiram, now quite recovered, as the Flying Fish, under her clumsy
sail, began to stagger along in the direction in which Tubby
believed the land lay, the wind fortunately being dead aft.
"Great Scott, the kid's right!" exclaimed Merritt. "We forgot
all about eating in the gloom but now I believe I could almost
follow Hiram's lead and eat some of those fellows as they are."
"Well, that's about all you'll get to eat for a long time,"
remarked Tubby, grimly casting an anxious eye aloft at the
filling "sail."
CHAPTER XVII
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."
CHAPTER XVIII
JOE DIGBY MISSING
"Merritt! Merritt, wake up!"
The boy sleepily opened his eyes and saw bending over him the
pale features of Rob, whose voice quivered with suppressed
excitement as he shook the other's shoulder.
"I didn't hear reveille blow yet. What's up? Have I overslept?"
murmured the young corporal.
"No, it's not six-thirty yet--barely after half past four, in
fact. But young Digby--he had the night watch, you know--and was
to have been relieved at three o'clock. Well, Ernest Thompson,
his relief, roused out at that hour, but not a trace of Digby was
to be found!"
"What!" The sleepy boy was drowsy no longer. "Digby gone?"
"Hush! We don't know yet. Don't wake any of the others.
Thompson and I have skirmished around ever since it began to get
light, and we have not been able to find a trace of him."
Merritt was out of his cot while his leader was still speaking,
and ten minutes later, during which time the boys exchanged
excited questions and answers, he was in his uniform and outside
the tent.
The sun was just poking his rim above the western horizon and the
chilly damp of early dawn lay over the island. The sea, as calm
almost as a lake, lay sullen and gray, scarcely heaving. Behind
the sleeping camp a few shreds of mist--the ghosts of the vapors
of the night were arising like smoke among the dim trees. At the
further end of the assemblage of tents, and beyond the smoldering
fire, stood a silent figure, that of Ernest Thompson.
"Have you explored the island thoroughly?" asked Merritt under
his breath. Somehow the dim hour and the situation seemed to
preclude the idea of loud talking.
"Of course not. Not yet," breathed the other in the same tones.
"We will break the news to the rest of the Patrol after
breakfast. It's no use alarming them yet."
"It isn't possible that he went off on an early fishing
expedition?"
For answer, Rob waved his hand toward the water, where the Flying
Fish lay rocking gently at her anchor. Ashore the dingy lay as
Merritt and his companions had left it the night before.
"But what can have happened to him?" burst out Merritt, as they
made their way over to Ernest Thompson's side.
"I cannot think. It is absolutely mystifying. I am going to
start for the captain's place now. He may be able to throw some
light on the affair."
Merritt shook his head.
"Hardly likely. If there is no trace of Joe Digby on this side
of the island, it is improbable that Captain Hudgins knows
anything about him."
"Well," rejoined Rob in a troubled voice, "we've got to try
everything. I am responsible for his safe keeping while he is in
camp. I blame myself for allowing the kid to go on sentry duty
at all."
"No use doing that," comforted Merritt; "there's one thing sure,
he can't have melted away. He must be somewhere on the island.
There are no wild beasts or anything like that here to carry him
off, so if we keep up the search we must come upon him sooner or
later."
"That's what makes the whole affair the more mystifying,"
rejoined Rob. "What can have become of him?"
"Well, if he's on the island, we'll find him," he continued; "and
if he isn't--"
"We'll find him anyway," declared Merritt in a determined voice.
"That's the stuff!" warmly exclaimed the other. "And now I'm
going to take a cruise round to the other side of the island, and
see if I can find out anything there."
A few seconds later he was in the dinghy and sculling out over
the water to the speedy Flying Fish. In a short time he was off.
As the "chug chug" of the motor grew fainter, Merritt turned to
young Thompson.
"Don't breathe a word of this to the others till we know for
certain that Digby has vanished," he said.
The other boy nodded.
"I understand," he said, and the look with which he accompanied
the words rendered Merritt perfectly confident that he would be
obeyed.
"And now let's rouse out Andy Bowles and get him busy with that
tin horn of his," cheerfully went on Merritt, walking toward
Andy's tent.
That youth was much surprised to find that it was morning, but
tumbled out of his cot in double-quick time, and soon the
cheerful notes of reveille were ringing out over the camp, on
which the sun's rays were now streaming down in that luminary's
cheerful morning way.
The soldier who immortalized himself by sing the words: "We can't
get 'em up, We can't get 'em up, We can't get 'em up in the
morning--, We can't get 'em up, We can't get 'em up, We can't
get'em up at a-a-l-l-l!" to the stirring notes of the army's
morning call had never been in a camp of Boy Scouts. If he had
he wouldn't have written them, for before the last notes had died
away the camp was alive and astir, with hurrying lads filling tin
washbasins and cleaning up.
The cook and "cookee" for the day--Jim Jeffords and Martin
Green--soon had their cooking fire going, and presently the
appetizing aroma of coffee and fried ham and eggs filled the
camp.
"Give the breakfast call, Andy," ordered Merritt, as the proud if
flush-faced cooks announced their labors complete, and with a
clatter and bang of tin dishes and cups the Boy Scouts sat down
to breakfast.
"Where's Rob and Digby?" demanded Andy Bowles, as be dug his
spoon into an island of oatmeal completely surrounded by an ocean
of condensed milk thinned down with warm water.
The moment that Merritt had dreaded had arrived.
"Why, he and Rob went off early to see the captain," he said. "I
guess they'll be back soon."
"Pretty early for paying social calls," commented Andy, too busy
with his breakfast, however, to give the matter more attention,
for which Merritt was duly thankful.
After breakfast Merritt ordered a general airing of bedding, and
the side walls of the tents were raised to let the fresh air blow
through them. Still there was no sign of Rob. Merritt grew so
anxious that he could hardly keep from pacing up and down to
conceal his nervous state of mind. However, he stuck to his
duties and oversaw the first routine of the morning without
betraying his anxiety to any of the lads under his charge. At
last there came the awaited chug chug of the returning boat, for
which he had been so eagerly listening, and Rob appeared rounding
the little point below the camp. In the craft was another
figure, that of the captain himself.
Merritt's first hope when he saw the two persons in the boat--namely,
that one of them might be the missing boy--was promptly dashed, and
he instinctively guessed by Rob's silence as he dropped the anchor
and he and the captain tumbled into the dinghy that there had been
no news.
"No," said Rob, shaking his head dejectedly as they reached the
shore, "there isn't anything to tell. The captain is as much in
the dark as we."
"Well, you'd better have some breakfast," said Merritt, after he
and the captain had exchanged greetings, "then we can go ahead
and notify the others and institute a thorough search."
"That's the stuff, my boy," agreed the veteran. "Overhaul ship
from bilge ter royals, and if not found, then take a cruise in
search uv."
Rob ate his meal with small appetite, but the captain, urging on
his young companion the necessity of "filling his hold," devoured
prodigious quantities of food, and then, arising, suggested that
the time had come to "pipe all hands aft and read orders."
The boys had been so busy about their morning tasks that
fortunately none of them, except Tubby, whom Merritt had told of
the disappearance, had found time to notice Rob's return or ask
questions; so that when he announced to them that Joe Digby was
missing it came as a stunning shock.
"Now, boys," said Rob, after he had communicated the full
details, so far as he knew them, of the circumstances of the
disappearance, "there is only one thing to do, and that is turn
this island inside out. It won't take long, but I want it done
thoroughly. Don't leave a stone unturned. If after a
painstaking search we find nothing on the island, we'll know we
have to look elsewhere. You are all fairly good woodsmen by this
time, and can trail by signs as effectively as first-class
scouts. Use your eyes, and good luck."
Merritt at once assigned searching parties, he and Rob and Tubby
taking the center of the island and the others being detailed to
search along the shores in two separate squads for any trace of
their missing comrade.
"Call me a lubber if this ain't the most mystifyin' thing I've
run my bow into since the Two Janes, uv Boston, brig, lost her
bearings in a fog and fetched up off Iceland," declared the
captain, who had elected to accompany the three leaders of the
Patrol. "But drown or swim, sail or sink, we'll find that kid if
he's on deck."
The searching parties construed this speech as a sort of
valedictory to them as, indeed, the captain intended it--and
greeted it with a cheer.
"The first scout that finds a trace of Joe is to light the four
'smokes', meaning come to council," was Rob's last order. "Light
them on as prominent a place as you can find and we will all meet
in camp to hear the news."
The searching parties at once separated, one striking off to the
right, the other to the left and the three young leaders and
their grizzled friend making a dead set for the center of the
island.
If Joe Digby was to be found, the look of determination on the
face of each scout showed that it would not be the fault of his
young comrades if he were not.
CHAPTER XIX
SAM REBELS
In the meantime on a small island in the Upper Inlet a strange
conference was taking place. Three youths whom our readers will
recognize as Jack Curtiss, Bill Bender and Sam Redding; were in
earnest consultation with the unkempt and unsavory individual
whom we know as Hank Handcraft, the beach-comber.
"Well, the job's put through, all right," Hank was saying, as the
three sat outside a small tent in front of which was a smoldering
fire, about which the remnants of a meal were scattered.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11