John Goldfrap - The Ocean Wireless Boys on War Swept Seas

At breakfast time the passengers assembled in the saloon, for the most part anxious and haggard after sleepless nights. The captain spoke encouragingly, but even his words had little effect. Every one on board felt and showed the strain of this blind racing over the ocean with watchful naval bull-dogs lying in wait ready to pounce on the richest prize afloat on the seven seas.

That night a dense fog fell. But the pace of the fleeing liner was not slackened by a fraction of a knot. Without running lights, and with darkened decks and cabins, she raced blindly onward through the smother, facing disaster if she struck an obstacle. The passengers, already nerve-racked for the most part, almost beyond endurance, named a committee which was sent to the captain to protest against the reckless risk he was taking in ploughing ahead at top speed through the blinding mist.

They returned with a report that the captain had refused to slacken speed. With reckless fatalism, it appeared, he was prepared to lose his ship in a disaster rather than run the chance of its capture by cruisers of the country with which his ruler was at war. A new feeling, one of indignation, began to spread through the big ship. Little knots gathered and angrily censured the captain’s action. Some even visited him in person, but while he was polite to all, he firmly refused to reduce speed or display lights.

This was the condition of affairs when Jack came on duty accompanied by Bill Raynor, who had agreed to share his lonely vigil, for, from being one of the most sought out places on the ship, the wireless room was now deserted by the passengers, for strict orders had been given against the sending or receiving of any wireless messages lest the watching cruisers should get definite information of the liner’s whereabouts and pounce upon her.

There was little for Jack to do under this “ukase” but to lean back restfully in his chair, with the receivers over his ears on the lookout for what might be coming through the air. He and Raynor chatted, discussing the wild flight of the “gold ship,” intermittently, as the hours passed. But suddenly Jack became alert. Out in the dark, fog-ridden night, two ships were talking through the air. They were, as he learned after a moment of listening, the Caledonian of the English Anchor Line and the Mersey , which also flew the British flag.

The young wireless man listened for a time and then “grounded” with a grave face.

“What’s up now?” asked Raynor, noticing this. “If it’s the cruisers, I don’t mind, for only the Germans and Austrians would be held as prisoners. I’d kind of like to be ‘captured,’ as a novelty.”

“This trouble’s worse than cruisers,” rejoined Jack, in sober tones.

“What is it then?”

“Icebergs,” said Jack, sententiously.

“Icebergs at this time of the year?” asked Bill, incredulously, for bergs are rare in August on the usual steamer lanes, though occasionally seen.

“That’s what,” rejoined Jack; “the Caledonian was telling the Mersey . She says they are sown thick to the northwest of us. You’ve got to remember that we’re a long way to the north of the usual steamer tracks now, so it’s not surprising that the ‘growlers’ are about.”

“No, but it’s mighty unpleasant,” said Raynor. “What are you going to do?”

“Tell the captain about it at once,” said Jack, decisively, rising and putting on his cap.

“I hope he puts on the brakes when he hears about it,” commented Bill. “I’m not particularly nervous, but going full speed ahead through the fog into a field of bergs doesn’t just exactly feel good.”

“I’m only glad that the passengers don’t know about it,” said Jack. “They’re scary enough now. If they knew about the bergs, I firmly believe some of them would have to be put in strait jackets.”

“Yes, about the only cool ones on board are the Americans and the English,” declared Bill. “I heard to-day that a party of American millionaires got together in the smoking room and laid plans to make an offer to buy the ship and run her across anyhow.”

“That sounds like the American spirit all right,” chuckled Jack. “What became of the idea?”

“The captain told them the ship was not for sale,” said Bill, “even if they offered to throw in the millions in the specie room.”

Jack found Captain Rollok and his officers in anxious consultation in the former’s cabin.

“Ha, so you haf the news, is it?” demanded the captain, as Jack entered.

“Yes, and not very good news, I’m sorry to say,” said Jack. “The Caledonian has just been telling the Mersey that there are icebergs ahead.”

The officers exchanged glances. They all looked at the captain. Evidently some orders were expected, with the greatest peril the sea holds lying ahead of the racing vessel.

One of them, – Second Officer Muller, who had the watch, – put his anxiety into words.

“Is it that you will change the course or reduce speed, Captain?” he inquired.

The big, bearded captain turned on him like a flash. He raised his massive fist and brought it down on the table with a crash that bade fair to split the wood.

“We keep on as we are going!” he exclaimed. “Rather than let this ship get into the hands of the English, I’ll send her to the bottom.”

“But the passengers!” exclaimed Jack; “surely – ”

“Herr Ready,” said the captain, “I am in command of this ship. The orders are full speed ahead.”

Bill Raynor received Jack’s news with a shrug.

“I’m not surprised, to tell you the truth,” he said. “I’ve met a good many Germans in the course of my sea-going years, and that’s usually their idea, – rather sink the ship than give it up.”

“But the fearful danger, Bill,” protested Jack. “At any moment there may come a crash and – ”

“We’ve got iceberg detectors,” said Bill, “and maybe they’ll sound the whistle and locate a big berg by the echo.”

“They won’t sound any whistle to-night,” declared Jack. “That skipper is determined not to give any cruiser the least inkling of his whereabouts. I’m going to take a run on the deck, the wireless bell will call me if something comes. Want to join me?”

“All right. But it’s not much of a night for a stroll outside.”

“Anything’s better than sitting in that cabin waiting for you-don’t-know-what to happen.”

“You’re getting nervous, Jack.”

“Not so much for my own sake as at the thought of all these thousands of tons of steel being raced through this fog at a twenty-four knot clip and icebergs ahead. It’s sheer madness.”

“Well, the captain’s word is law at sea, so it’s no use protesting. We must hope for the best.”

The upper decks were deserted except for the boys. On the lower deck the passengers huddled in the darkness behind canvas screens erected to prevent any chance ray of light from filtering out. It was an uncanny feeling this, of speeding through an impenetrable pall of blackness with the thought of the iceberg warning ever and anon recurring to both lads, though they tried to talk of indifferent subjects.

The hours wore on and the fog did not lighten. Chilled to the bone, although it was August, Jack and Bill had about decided to turn in when there came a sudden sharp cry from the lookout forward. Involuntarily, Bill clutched Jack’s arm. The strain had affected them both more than they cared to admit.

Suddenly, dead ahead of them, as it seemed, there reared, seen white through the mist, a monstrous spectral form. It towered above the steamer’s masts and appeared to their alarmed imaginations to hang like an impending cliff above the ship.