The Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Coast Guard/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
A Ship in Distress
HAD Henry but known it, there was no immediate necessity for his return to the Iroquois. Indeed, the Coast Guard cutter not only was unable to sail that day, but she did not cast off her hawsers until afternoon the day following. Although Henry thus had an unexpected half day in Boston, he saw no more of the city than he had seen on the preceding day, for when he awoke rain was pouring down, a vicious east wind was blowing, and the elements were as nasty as they well could be.
Even a complete suit of rubber would hardly have kept one dry very long in the slashing, blustering blasts that came howling through the Navy Yard. The rain drove in horizontal sheets. It whipped around corners and under doorways and awnings. It roared across open decks. It beat against the air-ports. With ever-increasing force the gusts came tearing in from the sea. Trees bent far over and groaned before their onslaught. Flags whipped themselves to ribbons. Halyards beat a very devil’s tattoo against their masts, and on the Iroquois the cordage fairly shrieked in wild, wailing notes that made Henry almost shudder.
He was glad enough that the Iroquois had been unable to get away. Never had the captain’s cabin seemed half so comfortable and attractive. He told himself that he would be glad enough to spend the time there, reading some of the interesting books from the captain’s bookshelf, while waiting for the storm to subside.
Yet the movement of stores went forward without interruption. Sailors, cased from head to foot in sou’westers, oilskins, and rubber boots, worked without ceasing in the downpour to finish the transshipment. Henry could hear them clumping about the deck in their clumsy footgear. On the pier trucks rattled and banged. Boxes were wheeled aboard and dumped on the deck. Men swore and slipped in the wet. Machinery rattled.
While Henry and his host were eating their luncheon, the noises suddenly ceased. There were a few shouted orders, indistinguishable in the roar of the storm, then some banging noises as hatches were closed and battened down, and other openings made fast. Soon all was quiet. When the luncheon was ended, Henry went up the companionway and peeped out. Things had been made tight. Awnings had been removed. Every-thing was lashed fast. The decks were bare. The Iroquois was stripped for action.
Henry could hardly believe that Captain Hardwick would leave port in such a storm. He knew that storm warnings must be showing all along the New England coast, and perhaps the entire Atlantic seaboard, but before he could return to the cabin and ask the captain if he intended to put to sea, he saw the chief electrician running aft along the slippery deck. Henry threw open the door for him, and the radio man dodged in out of the blinding rain. He had a message for the captain.
Henry descended to the cabin with the electrician. Captain Hardwick took the telegraph blank from Mr. Sharp and studied it a moment.
“No orders?” he asked.
“Not yet,” said the electrician.
The captain sat down at his desk, drew a red-bordered telegraph blank from a pigeonhole, and wrote. “Send that,” he directed.
The radio man struggled out into the storm. The captain rose and touched his call-bell.
“Rollin,” he said, when his attendant appeared, “ask Mr. Farley to come to me at once.”
The commander picked up the telegram and handed it to Henry. “You’ll have a chance to see something to-day, Henry,” he said.
Henry looked at the message in his hands. It was a cry of distress, an SOS message the radio man had picked out of the air:
The chief engineer entered the cabin. “Start your engines at once, Mr. Farley. We just caught a distress call. Steamer ashore on the east coast of Cape Cod. See that everything is ready for a hard run.”
“All right, sir,” and the chief engineer hurried forward.
Soon the ship began to vibrate. The rumbling noise of the machinery arose. Yet the Iroquois lay quiet in her dock.
“He’s warming her up,” thought Henry. “It’s a good thing, too, for this is going to be some struggle. I’ll bet the waves are like mountains.”
The captain rang his call-bell. “Send Lieutenant Hill to me,” he said.
The lieutenant came briskly into the cabin. The two officers conferred a moment. Henry stepped over to the wardroom. Not even the doctor was there. Cards and books lay on the table in disorder, as they had been dropped at news of the wireless. Everybody was at his post, preparing. Henry returned to the cabin. The lieutenant was gone. The commander was pulling on his oilskins.
“Where can I get a slicker?” Henry inquired.
“Ask Rollin. He will get you one.”
The captain pulled on his sou’wester, tied the strings under his chin, and mounted to the deck. Henry rang for Rollin and stated his wish. The attendant brought boots, hat, and slicker. Henry pulled on a sweater, buttoned his coat up tight, and pulled on the waterproofs.
The gust of wind that struck him as he came out of the companionway sent him reeling back against that structure. He could hardly catch his breath. The driving sheets of rain blinded him. He fought his way forward, and entered the radio shack. The chief electrician was copying down a message. It was an order for the Iroquois to go to the rescue of the Capitol City. But Henry knew that it was not needed. Already the Iroquois was prepared to get under way.
Henry took the message to the bridge. and handed it to the commander. “Tell Sparks to wire that we are leaving Boston to help the Capitol City,” shouted the captain.
Henry carried the message to Mr. Sharp and watched him send it. Then he went back to the bridge. The rain beat on him as irresistibly as ever, but the weather-cloth offered surprising protection from the wind. A sailor slipped the hawsers over the posts on the pier. Other sailors drew in the hawsers and stowed them away. The captain pressed his signal-bell, and the Iroquois began to move astern. She backed out into the stream and then turned and headed for the sea, into the teeth of the driving storm.
The beating rain obscured the view. Fog made the shores almost indistinguishable, for in from the sea, blown on the breath of the icy blasts, came racing great clouds of murky white vapor that screened all they touched. The captain looked grim and inscrutable. His jaw was set hard. He stood by the wheel-house, conning the ship. At half speed the Iroquois slowly nosed her way down the channel. Wiped from view was the beautiful scene that had so delighted Henry a few short hours before. Nothing could be seen but occasional glimpses of shore, the tumultuous, muddy water, and the driving curtains of fog.
One by one the captain made the proper turns in the tortuous channel. As the Iroquois stood farther and farther out toward the sea, the waters became ever more tumultuous, the winds roared more fiercely, and the fog shut in ever denser. Fathom by fathom the ship crept past one after another of the island defenses along the way, that served as breakwaters to the sea and broke the sweep of the winds. When at last the little ship turned eastward at George’s Island, and faced the storm with the last vestige of protection gone, she trembled and shook in the grasp of the roaring blasts.
A smother of foam was the sea. Waves rose and broke in incredible confusion. The waters were churned as by a giant hand. The racing winds whipped the crests from the combers and flung them forward in sheets of blinding spray. Fog drove onward in clouds, now completely hiding the sea, now lifting momentarily, to expose the wild waste of tossing waters. The fury of the storm was indescribable.
Mountain high indeed seemed the waves. Before the bow of the Iroquois they rose up, up, up, as high as the men on the bridge, then rushed savagely at the little boat, seemingly bent on her destruction. Down they crashed, and the nose of the cutter was buried in a smother of foaming water. Sometimes the crests swept completely over the bow, pouring over the forward deck in great floods that raced aft and went foaming out of the scuppers. Now Henry saw why the decks had been cleared of all movable objects. Indeed, as he watched the smashing combers crash over the bow, he feared that the big guns themselves would be torn from their foundations on the iron deck-plates and hurled aft against the wheelhouse. With blanched face he stood on the bridge, desperately gripping the rail, and peering with fascinated gaze at the snarling, hungry seas.
Meantime the captain had sent a reassuring message to the Capitol City, telling her the Iroquois was on her way to assist her. And when the ship was fairly in the sea, past all chance of harm by rock or shoal, the captain left the lieutenant in charge of the bridge and went himself to the chart-room to plan his coming movements. With him went Henry. He had seen enough of the sea for a time. Some of the fear that first gripped his soul had gone. He knew that the Iroquois was safe so long as she held her course, but he wanted to shut out for a time the sight of those terrifying billows; so he staggered to the chart-room, and stepped inside, glad of a relief from the terrible tension that had held him.
The captain was calmly poring over his charts and guide-books. “Forty-two north, seventy west,” he muttered, sweeping his glance over an outstretched map. He placed his pencil on the indicated spot. “She’s on the shoals almost dead east of Truro,” he said to Henry.
Then he turned to a Coast Guard directory and leafed it over. “Thank God!” he cried. “There’s a Coast Guard land station near by. It may be two or three miles distant, but they’ll come with their outfit. They must have gotten the wireless flash just as we did. It’s likely they’re on their way now. What a fight that will be—those miles across the sand with their heavy boats in this wind. They’ll do it, though. But maybe we can get to the Capitol City before she breaks up. I wish we dared go faster.”
He stepped out on the bridge and conferred with the lieutenant. “Do you think that we dare drive her any faster?”’ he shouted in the latter’s ear.
The lieutenant shook his head dubiously. “Well, we’ll try it,” said the commander.
And he stepped into the wheel-house and signaled for more speed. ‘The response was terrifying. Under increased power the Iroquois drove ahead, bit by bit gaining greater momentum. Savagely she charged into the seas. Wildly the waves leaped to meet her. The impact grew ever more terrific. Soon a huge mountain of water came roaring down on the little cutter. Up it rose and up and up, while the cutter charged to meet it, and as it broke and crashed forward, the cutter dived completely under it. The shock was terrific. Tons of water crashed down on the deck, then went racing aft against the superstructure. The Iroquois seemed to stop in her tracks. She trembled from stem to stern. She shook and quivered. The great wave went roaring aft, twisting and tearing at the ship. A section of the rail carried away, and went pounding astern. The tumult was terrifying. Henry, in the chart-room, thought the ship was breaking to pieces. With blanched face and set teeth he clung to the side of the room, not knowing what to do. He was reassured when the captain calmly stepped inside the wheel-house and signaled for the engineer to lessen speed.
Hour after hour they wallowed through the storm. Unflinching, undaunted, in complete mastery of ship and crew, the captain stood on the bridge, with his right-hand man. Mile by mile, league after league, he fought his way eastward. The rain ceased, but the winds blew on, lashing the seas to fiercer and greater fury. The sky was totally obscured. Gradually the fog lifted, but not for long was the increased vision. Darkness came apace, and into that roaring darkness the Iroquois drove with all the power she dared to use.
With anxious eyes the captain watched the logbook. At times he telephoned to the chief engineer. Again and again he stepped to the wheel-house and looked at the compass. Anon he consulted with the lieutenant. He must know where he was, in order to get safely round the long arm of Cape Cod. Nor did he dare stand too close to shore in his run along the eastward coast of the Cape, lest the storm put the Iroquois also on the shoals. Dead reckoning alone would tell him when to turn, and carefully the commander considered every feature that might indicate his position.
Darkness had long since shut in, and the Iroquois was wallowing through a night as black as pitch before the captain altered his course and headed south along the outer edge of the Cape. Gradually the course of the vessel was shifted. To Henry the change was terrifying. No longer was the Iroquois breasting the storm. The waves took her abeam. From side to side she rolled until Henry’s heart stood still with fear. Over and over and over she dipped until he was certain she would turn upside down. Then slowly she righted and swung in the opposite direction. And once, when she rolled at an angle of forty degrees, Henry almost gasped aloud. It seemed like eternity while the ship lay poised almost on her beam’s ends, apparently uncertain whether to roll on over or come back on her keel. Then she slowly righted.
Meantime the chief electrician had been in touch with the stranded ship. From her signals he knew that she was not far away. They came crackling out of the air sharp and clear. A distant glow showed that the guardsmen from the land were already at the scene. At last the Capitol City wired that she could see the lights of the Iroquois.
“Make a flare,” flashed back the Iroquois’ wireless man.
And presently, almost dead to leeward of the Iroquois, the darkness was torn by a flash, and a flaming rocket went streaking up through the night. Other rockets followed. Then a flaring light arose, and through their glasses the men on the bridge of the Iroquois could see the stricken ship, lying in a smother of foam on the outer edge of the breakers. She was too far from shore for the land crew to shoot a line to her, and no small boat could live in such a sea. If the crew of the Capitol City were to be saved, the little cutter alone could save them.
Cautiously the Iroquois was worked in toward the shoals. Then slowly she was turned, the captain gave the word, and one of the anchors was let go. Once more the cutter was heading again into the seas, and now, little by little, her anchor-chain was paid out, while seamen with hand-lines took soundings, calling up to the bridge the depth they found. Fathom after fathom the giant anchor-chain was paid out. Fathom after fathom the Iroquois rode backward toward the seething breakers.
Fascinated, Henry watched the attempt to get within reach of the unfortunate steamer. Gradually the Iroquois drew near to the smother of white water. The sea was shoaling fast and the tide was running out, but the captain kept on in the hope that he could get near enough to shoot a line aboard the Capitol City. His shells, and the shot line, loosely wound in the faking box so that it would run out freely, were ready for instant use. All that was necessary was to remove the canvas cover from the little gun on the after rail, insert the charge, and shoot. But the Iroquois never came within shooting distance. Too rapidly the water shoaled, and at last, reluctantly, the commander gave the word and the anchor-chain was held taut. The Iroquois was rolling, head to the sea, at the very edge of the breakers, but she was too far away from the Capitol City to put a shot across her.
“Tell them we'll float a line down to them, and for them to be on the lookout for it,” the captain ordered the wireless man.
The latter sat down at his key, but a moment later switched off. The Capitol City’s wireless was failing. He shifted to the blinkers, and for the first time Henry had opportunity to see the lights on the yardarm flash and blink. From the Capitol City came answering winks from aloft.
“They’re looking for our line,” the wireless man informed the captain.
Meantime empty kegs had been prepared. A light line was made fast to one of them, and it was thrown into the sea. Rapidly it floated to leeward, and as fast as the sea carried it shore-ward the line was paid out. The searchlight of the Iroquois was broken out and its beam kept on the floating keg. Slowly this bore down on the Capitol City, but it was too far to one side for that ship to get it. The line was hauled in, and again it was floated toward the helpless ship. This time a sailor hurled the keg far to one side of the Iroquois, in the hope that it might now come close enough to the stranded ship to be caught. But again the attempt failed. The ebb tide, with its cross current, carried it farther away from the Capitol City than it had been before.
“Lower the surfboat,” ordered the commander, when he saw the attempt was useless. Then he called for volunteers. By the dozen the sailors leaped forward.
“Boatswain Johnson,” said the captain, “I’m going to put you in charge. Pick your crew.”
The boatswain selected eight sturdy sailors for oarsmen. A life belt was strapped round each. The boat was lowered to the rail, and the crew stepped carefully aboard. At a favorable moment the craft was launched. Quickly she shot away from the side of the Iroquois, and be-fore another comber broke, she was at a safe distance from the cutter and heading straight into the breakers.
The ship’s light was trained on her. On she went, now up, now down, breasting the roaring waves, shooting through the smother of foam, riding safely where it seemed impossible for a boat to live, under the skillful guidance of the experienced boatswain. Swiftly she drew toward the Capitol City, which no longer lay at right angles to the beach, but had worked a little to one side, making a lee where the water was calmer. Toward this the boatswain drove the surfboat. Into it the little craft shot safely, while a sigh of relief went up from the deck of the Iroquois.
Through powerful glasses, Henry watched breathlessly while the surfboat drew close to the protected side of the Capitol City. A line was thrown to the little boat, and a sailor in the bow caught it. Then the surfboat was drawn close beside the stranded steamer, and a sailor scrambled down from the rigging and dropped into it.
From seaward a giant comber was rushing toward the tiny craft. If it caught her, it would crush her against the side of the larger ship as an eggshell is crushed underfoot. On the Iroquois not a soul breathed. The onlookers stood tense, waiting the outcome. But the boatswain had an eye for everything. He, too, saw the great comber approaching. Back from the steamer’s side drew the little boat, and the wave passed harmlessly by. Again the surfboat drew up to the side of the Capitol City, and another man detached himself from the rigging and dropped into it. But just at that moment a wave, rising apparently from nowhere, swept over the windward side of the stranded steamer, poured irresistibly across her deck, and sent its tons of icy water crashing downward into the little surfboat lying by the leeward rail. The tiny craft was swept from sight.
“My God!” cried the captain. “They’ve capsized!”