The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Lost Liner

A dozen eager hands drew them aboard the boat, while from both the big steamers, for the City of Mexico had now come up, there arose a mighty roar of recognition for the plucky rescue. From the Mexico’s signal halliards a message of congratulation was fluttering as the Tropic Queen’s boat started back for her ship. In the wireless coop, Sam and the City of Mexico’s operator were busy exchanging comments by radio.

The aviator soon recovered and was able to talk to Jack as the boat crew pulled back. His name was Ramon de Garros, and he was a young Frenchman. He was making the flight from Palm Beach to Havana in the flying-boat in the interests of a hotel company owning giant hostelries in both places.

He had set out the day before, thinking to finish the flight within a few hours. Instead, an accident to his engine had compelled him to alight on the surface of the ocean. Then adverse winds had driven him far off his course, and finally his gasoline had given out. He luckily had a wireless apparatus on board, a new, light device with which he had been experimenting for the government. If it had not been for this, his chance of rescue would have been slim.

The rails of the ship were lined with men and women who gave the returning rescuers a hearty roar of welcome as they drew alongside. De Garros, with the volatility of a true Frenchman, waved his hand to show that he was not injured. This brought another cheer.

The boat was hoisted home and the crowd pressed about it as Jack clambered out and extended his hand to De Garros, who was still feeble from his trying experience. Men and women tried to grasp Jack’s hand, but he brushed past them, feeling awkward and embarrassed as he conducted De Garros to the captain’s cabin.

In the crowd was Miss Jarrold, and as they passed her, to Jack’s astonishment, she and De Garros exchanged looks of unmistakable recognition. The girl turned away the next instant, but De Garros exclaimed to Jack:

“What is that young lady doing on this ship?”

“She is accompanying her uncle,” rejoined Jack. “I believe they are on a pleasure cruise.”

“Her uncle is on board?”

There was a note almost of anxiety in the rescued aviator’s voice as he put the question.

“Yes. You know him?”

The reply astonished Jack. De Garros’ tone was more than vehement as he rejoined:

“Know him! I know him too well! I—but never mind about that now.”

Jack had no time to ask questions; indeed, he would have considered it impertinent to have done so. They now reached the captain’s cabin and that dignitary himself came forward to greet De Garros. The aviator explained that he wished to be transported to Kingston, Jamaica, which was the first port of call of the Tropic Queen, and that there he would cable for money for his passage and so forth.

Captain McDonald greeted him warmly, and clothes from the wardrobe of the third officer, who was about his size, were found for De Garros, who was beginning to shiver, warm though the air was. Jack had to hurry off to relieve Sam at the key. As he left, he and De Garros shook hands warmly.

“I shall see more of you,” said the young Frenchman.

“I hope so,” responded Jack. “I should like to hear more about your air voyage, when you have time.”

“I can always make time for the man who saved my life,” was the rejoinder of the aërial castaway.

“Oh, shucks!” exclaimed Jack, not being able to think of anything else to say.

Then he hurried back on the job. Half an hour later, in dry clothes, he was at his key again and exchanging joshes with the operator of the Mexico, as both the stately crafts stood on their courses once more after participating in what was, probably, the first rescue of an aërial castaway on record.

CHAPTER XIX—A CALL IN THE NIGHT

Sapphire days of steaming through deep blue tropic seas beneath a cloudless sky passed by dreamily. The Tropic Queen was now in the Caribbean, rolling lazily southward through azure water flecked with golden patches of gulf weed—looking like marine golden-rod. Fleeing flocks of flying fish scuttered over the water as the steamer’s sharp bow nosed into the stuff, like a covey of partridges rising from cover before a sportsman’s gun.

To Jack and Sam, making their first voyage in these waters, everything was new and fascinating. They never tired of leaning over the rail, watching the different forms of marine life that were to be seen almost every moment.

Jack had succeeded in attaching a bell to the wireless apparatus, which, while it did not sound powerfully when a wireless wave beat against the antennæ, yet answered its purpose so long as they were in the vicinity of the wireless room. Jack had hopes, in time, of perfecting a device which would give a sharp, insistent ring and awaken even the soundest sleeper. The boy knew that on many small steamers only one wireless operator is, from motives of economy, carried. When such an operator is asleep, therefore, the wireless “ears” of his ship are deaf. But with an alarm bell, such as Jack hoped to bring to perfection, there would be no danger of the man’s not awakening in time to avert what might prove to be grave disaster.

They now began to steam past small islands, bare, desolate spots for the most part, but surrounded by waters clear as crystal and gleaming like jewels. Some of them were covered with a sparse sort of brush, but generally they were mere specks of sand in a glowing sea of azure.

One evening Jack was sitting at the key, when through the air there came, beating at his ears, a wireless summons. Such messages were common enough and the boy languidly, for the night was stiflingly hot, reached out a hand for his pencil in order to jot down whatever might be coming.

But the next instant he was sitting bolt upright, sending out with strong, nervous fingers a crashing reply to the message that had come to him.

“To any ship in vicinity,” it read. “Send us a boat-load of provisions and water or we shall perish.”

“Who are you?” flashed Jack’s key in reply.

Feebly, as if the supply of juice was running low, the mysterious sender of the urgent appeal sent back his answer.

“The Sombrero Island Light. The monthly provision boat has not arrived from the mainland. We are almost destitute.”

Jack looked up at his wireless map. Sure enough, on a tiny speck of land not far off, was marked in blue, with a red star, the location of the island light, the coloring denoting that, like many modern lighthouses, it was equipped with wireless.

“How many of you are there?” inquired Jack’s radio.

“Two. But my partner, an old man, is bedridden from suffering. I have not slept for many nights and am almost exhausted.”

“Keep up your courage,” rejoined Jack, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

He hurried forward with his message to the bridge. He found the captain taking his ease in slippers and pajamas outside the sacred precincts of his cabin. Jack told him briefly about the communication he had had, and then handed the skipper the notes he had made of the radio conversation.

The captain looked annoyed. A frown furrowed his forehead.

“Confound it all,” he muttered, “I was making up my mind for a record run and this means delay. But we can’t neglect to aid those unfortunates who are probably suffering the pangs of hunger and thirst at this very moment.”

He paused as if reflecting, while Jack stood by respectfully. The captain had not dismissed him, and the boy judged that he was considering some plan.

“Come into the chart room,” he said presently; and Jack followed him through a doorway into the chart room where the sea-maps were stowed neatly away in overhead racks.

The captain took down one. Jack saw that it showed the Caribbean. With a brown forefinger the captain checked off the course of the Tropic Queen and her present whereabouts, as marked that day by the chief officer when the log was written up.

“No chance of getting this ship anywhere within ten miles of the island,” he said, after he had examined the soundings carefully. “It is one of the worst places charted in these seas.”

“You mean it is unapproachable, sir?” asked Jack.

“Yes, to a degree. It is surrounded by shoals and reefs. It would be suicide to try to navigate a ship of this size amongst them.”

“What can be done then, sir?” asked Jack, who knew that he would have to send a reply to the lighthouse keepers.

“We shall be about twenty miles to the east of the island early to-morrow morning,” said the captain. “You may inform them that I shall send off a boat and perhaps the doctor, if I can spare him.”

“Very well, sir.”

Jack started away, but then lingered.

“Well, what is it?”

The captain swung around in his chair and looked at the boy who hesitated in the doorway.

“I—I wondered if it would be possible for me to go along with the boat, sir?” asked Jack haltingly. There was something very disconcerting in that direct glance of the captain’s.

“In the boat, you mean?”

“Yes, sir. You see they have wireless there. I might be of some use. I——”

“There, don’t bother to make excuses,” laughed the captain good-humoredly. “You really want to go for the sake of the trip, don’t you?”

“Well, I——” began Jack, feeling rather foolish at having his mind read so unerringly.

“Will your assistant stand watch if I let you go? The ship must not be left without a wireless man.”

“Sam will stay, sir,” rejoined Jack. “It is his watch, anyway.”

“All right, then, consider it settled. Cut along now and send out that message. Those poor devils must be waiting eagerly for it.”

“Very well, sir, and thank you,” exclaimed the delighted Jack.

“Don’t thank me,” said the captain, with a gruffness that a twinkle in his eye betrayed. “I heard before you joined the ship that you had a faculty for rushing in where you had no business to be, and now I see that I was not misinformed.”

CHAPTER XX—TO THE RESCUE

“Aren’t you going to turn in?”

Sam asked the question as, at midnight, he came on watch. He took his position at the key, but, to his surprise, Jack did not show his usual alacrity to seek his bunk.

“I guess I’ll sit up a while,” rejoined Jack, without a trace of drowsiness.

Then he added, as Sam looked his bewilderment, “Sammy, my boy, just cast your eye over those copies of radios I got and answered while you were asleep.”

Sam obeyed, scanning the despatches and the answers to them, copied in carbon, with deep interest. When he had finished he looked up.

“I can guess the reason for your staying up now,” he said.

“Well?” asked Jack, his eyes dancing.

“You’re going along in that boat!”

“A good guess,” laughed Jack. “You don’t mind, do you, Sam?”

“Not a bit. If you will insist on risking your neck, it’s no affair of mine,” laughed Sam.

“Hum, you’re a nice, sympathetic little friend, aren’t you?” inquired Jack, giving Sam a dig in the ribs. “But seriously, though,” he added, “you don’t think it selfish of me to go off alone and——”

“Get a ducking?” chuckled Sam. “No, I don’t. I’d rather be comfortable here on board than trying to make a landing on an island beach. It’s ten to one you get tipped over in the surf.”

“Not much danger of that,” said Jack; “we’ve got some skillful oarsmen in the crew, and you know that boat drill is one of the fads of this line.”

“Well, what time do you expect to start?”

“Haven’t any idea, but the skipper said we ought to be up with the island by dawn.”

“If I were you, I’d turn in and get some sleep.”

“Couldn’t take a wink. I’m too keyed up about the trip.”

Jack looked at his watch, the fine gold one that had been presented to him in Antwerp on his first voyage, in recognition of a brave deed.

“Not one o’clock yet,” he muttered impatiently.

“It won’t be light for four hours anyhow,” counseled Sam; “you’d better get into your bunk.”

But Jack was so fearful of being left behind that he refused to turn in. However, after a time, as he sat in the spare chair of the wireless room, his eyelids did close in spite of all he could do to prevent them.

Sam smiled as, turning around, he saw that his chum was asleep.

It was Schultz, the old quartermaster, who aroused Jack by poking his head into the door of the wireless room.

“Ahoy, vere is dot Yack vot vants to go midt us py der Somprero Lighdt?”

Jack awakened with a start.

“Eh? What?” he demanded sleepily.

“Vell, don’t you vant to go midt us py der Somprero?” asked Schultz. “Oder dot you schleep?”

Broad awake now, Jack sprang to his feet.

“All right, Schultz, I’ll be with you in a jiffy,” he exclaimed.

“Don’t make no nefer mindt aboudt gedtting prettied oop,” grinned the old quartermaster grimly, as Jack plunged his face into a basin of cold water and parted his tousled hair; “maype vee gedt idt a spill in der vater before ve gedt back der ship py.”

“There, what did I tell you?” demanded Sam triumphantly; but Jack only grinned.

There was a great trampling about on the decks outside. The men who had been selected to form the boat’s crew, the pick of the sailors, were running about, loading the small craft with provisions and barrels of fresh water.

To the men this sudden call for a trip to the shore came in the nature of a junket. It afforded an agreeable bit of relaxation in the midst of the hum-drum monotony of sea life. A sailor on such an expedition is like a boy off on a picnic. The men joked and laughed as, in the gray of the early light, they hustled about between boat and storeroom.

Dr. Flynn, to Jack’s disappointment, was unable to go. A sick patient on board demanded all his attention. But he put up a case of medicines for the old light keeper and gave Jack directions how to administer them; for, by means of the old man’s symptoms, transmitted by wireless through Jack, the doctor of the Tropic Queen had been able to diagnose the trouble as being a case of tropic fever.

At last all was ready, and a few early-rising passengers saw the boat lowered and pulled away for the dim speck of land on the far horizon that marked the site of Sombrero Island. A few moments later the stopping of the Tropic Queen’s engines aroused the other passengers, and before the breakfast bugle blew, the ship was humming with conjecture and surmise as to the reason for the sudden check in the voyage.

A bulletin, posted by the captain’s orders, dispelled the mystery. It also announced that the boat was expected back by evening at the latest.

CHAPTER XXI—A TALE OF THE SEA

The boat, urged by strong arms, fairly flew over the water. Quartermaster Schultz served out breakfast to the crew in relays, for no time had been taken for eating before they started. Jack felt in high spirits. The morning was clear and quite cool. The scorching heat of the day would not come till later, when the sun rose higher.

“Ach, idt vos a badt ding to be on a lighdthouse midout help from der supply boat undt not knowing if you vill lif or die,” said the old quartermaster, as he sat in the stern sheets with Jack. “I rememper ven I vos younger vunce I vos tired of der sea undt ships, undt I take idt a yob on a lighdthouse off der coast of Oregon on der Bacific.

“Der Big Boint Lighdt vos its name. It vos known as vun of der loneliest of all der lighdts on dot rocky coast. Budt I didn’t care about dot, or I dought I didn’t. Der pay vos goodt undt dere vos annunder keeper, an oldt man, oldt enough to be mein fadder, I reckon.

“Vell, der supply boat idt take me to der lighdt, budt a badt storm came up after dey hadt landed me, undt dey had to go avay again. To get to der lighdt from der schmall boat dey sendt me ashore in, I hadt to be hoisted oop in a sordt of basket from der boat by a derrick. Der lighdt vos just as lonely as I hadt heardt idt vos. Idt stood on a big rock vich formed der endt of a sordt of peninsula of rocks dot ran out two miles from der shore.

“Idt vos buildt of stone undt lookedt strong undt substantial. Idt needed to pe so, I dought, as I lookedt aboudt me undt sized der place oop.

“Der oldt man on der lighdt, his name vos Abbott, velcomed me. He vos a fine-looking oldt man, midt pale blue eyes undt a long white beard. After de boat hadt left, pecause of der rising sea, der oldt man toldt me dot ve vos in for a badt storm.

“‘Let idt come,’ said I, ‘dis tower is as strong aber der rock idt is built on. Nuddings can harm idt.’

“He didn’t say nuddings, budt showed me my quarters vich vos in der lower pardt of de tower. Den he took me oop to show me der lamp, an oil burner midt a two minute flash.

“‘Many a poor sould vill bless dis lamp to-nighdt,’ he saidt to me, undt den he vent on to tell me dot his son vos a sailor on de China run on a pig tea clipper.

“‘He is homevard boundt now, undt ought to pe off dis coast to-nighdt,’ he said. ‘His ship runs into Portlandt.’

“Vell, ve cooked our supper undt ate idt vhile der sea oudtside kept rising undt der windt hadt a sordt of a moan in idt dot made you dink of somepody in bain. I couldt see dot ve vere in for a mighty badt nighdt. After ve had eaten, der oldt man, his name vos Abbott, climbed oop der tower undt lighted der lamps.

“Den he sedt in motion der clockvurk dot kept der lighdt revolving all t’rough der nighdt giffing oudt der regular flashes, as sedt down on der charts. Ven dot vos done dere vosn’t much to do budt to smoke undt talk. Der oldt man vosn’t much of a handt for talking, budt aboudt his son he had a lodt to say. Vot a fine poy he vos, undt how he vos going to try to gedt him to leave der sea after dot voyage, der oldt man knowing der sea undt how efery voyage may pe a sailor’s last. He showed me his picture, too. A fine figure of a poy. Ach, yes, undt to dink of vot vos to happen dot night! Poor oldt Abbott, dot vos many years ago, budt I can hear him still telling me aboudt his poy Harry, undt vot a fine poy he vos.

“Vell, py der time idt vos my turn to go to bed der vind vos howling undt tearing roundt der lighdt like a pack of wolves. Der sea vos gedtting oop, too. You could hear idt roar like vild beasts roundt der place. I foundt myself being mighty gladt dot der tower vos of solidt stone. Nudding else couldt have stoodt idt.

“Outside der lighdt vos a small stone shanty. In dis vos der boiler vich made der fog-horn blow. Oldt man Abbott toldt me pefore I go to bedt dot I hadt bedder start der fires oop undter der boiler, so dot if anyting happened to der lighdt ve vould still be able to varn der ships.

“Ven I open der door to go to der boiler room der vind almost knocks me off my feedt. Der spray blows in my face like knives. Der sea vos all vhite, like idt vos boiling. I dell you, dot vos a nighdt, budt idt vos nudding to vot vos to come.

“I got steam oop undt banked der fires. Den I turned in till oldt man Abbott should rouse me for my vatch. I didn’t sleep much, vhat vith der devils howling of vind, and der roar of der sea. Ven oldt man Abbott vake me, he say dot I shall come oop into der lantern.

“I hurried on a few clo’es and climbed oop. Himmel! At der top of der tower you couldt feel dot stone shake, der vind vos so fierce! Oldt man Abbott, he vos yust sitting dere saying nudding, budt staring out. He didn’t turn ven I came in, budt yust kept on staring. Budt at last he turn round to me undt holdt oop vun of his vingers, solemn like.

“‘Hark!’ he say.

“‘I don’t can hear idt nuddings,’ I saidt.

“He shook his oldt vhite head.

“‘Don’t you hear dem calling?’ he saidt. ‘Listen!’

“I began to dink dot der oldt man hadt gone crazy, as lighdt keepers sometimes do. For der life of me I could hear nuddings budt der vind undt der sea. All at vonce a vave came crashing against der glass of der lantern. You could hear der vater swish undt crash on der lenses.

“Der tower shook as if idt hadt been struck a blow. I pegan to feel a bidt scared. A few more vaves like dot undt nudding dot man buildt could standt idt. Budt oldt man Abbott, he say nudding. Py undt py I saw his lips move undt I dought maype he vos praying.

“I not interrupt him budt come downstairs again. I know I must see to der furnace under der boiler in der vistle house. But ven I opened der door I vos blown in again. Dot vind vos so strong dot idt drove me righdt back, undt I vos a strong young man den, too, midt my muscles hardened on ships all ofer der vurld. I saw dot if I vanted to endt idt my life, all I had to do vos to try to gedt to dot boiler house. So I gif idt oop, undt come in py der tower again.

“I go oop py der lighdt. Ach, it vos terrible oop dere! Der seas vos so pig dot dey sweep righdt ofer der tower. Small rocks undt stones hammered against der lenses till you vould haf dought dey must be smashed in! Budt dey vere of t’ick, strong glass undt dey stoodt idt.

“Oldt man Abbott, he asks me to go pelow undt gedt him some coffee. Py dot time idt is gedtting on toward morning. Der storm is schreeching undt howling undt ramping like ten t’ousand teufels. Sometimes ven a big vave hit der tower idt shake like dere vos an eart’quake gotd idt in its teef!

“‘Schultz,’ I say by meinselfs, ‘you are one pig fool, mein fine fellow, to leave der sea. Aber idt is bedder to die on a goodt ship dan in der wreck of a lighdthouse.’

“I haf youst aboudt godt der coffee ready ven der oldt man comes down. Dere vos a vild look in his eyes like he hadt seen a ghost.

“‘Dere’s a ship, a fine ship, she’s driven ashore on der Squabs,’ he said. Der Squabs peing vot ve called der long neck of small rocks petween der Big Lighdt undt der shore.

“‘Impossible!’ saidt I. ’Ve vould half heardt idt der rockets aber der guns if such hadt been der case.’

“’Pelief idt or nodt as you like,’ he said, ‘budt dere is a ship ashore. I heardt der poor soulds on her screaming undt praying.’

“I looked at him, dinking he had suddenly gone crazy. Budt he looked quite sane undt serious.

“‘Idt is a terrible ding,’ he said, ‘to die like dot midtoudt a grave budt der sea to lay your headt in, till der judgment day ven der good book tells us dere shall pe no more sea.’

“‘Mr. Abbott,’ I saidt, ‘I dink you hadt bedder dake your coffee undt go to bedt. You are overtired.’

“‘I shall keep oop till der storm dies oudt,’ he saidt, undt I shall nefer forget his voice as he saidt dot. ‘I must see vot ship dot vos dot drove ashore.’

“Suddenly, above us, ve heardt a terrible noise as if der lighdthouse vos peing torn to bits. Idt came from der oopper pardt of der tower. I rushed to der foot of der steps undt vos medt py a rush of vater.

“As idt swept py me idt almost knocked me off my feedt! Righdt avay I know vot hadt happened. A big vave hadt smashed in der light, or more likely a big rock, hurled py der vave, hadt done der damage.

“Midt oldt man Abbott close behindt me, I fought my vay oop der steps.

“Himmel! I nefer forget vot ve findt!

“Der whole top of der lantern, idt hadt been cut off as if py a knife! Only ragged edges of stone showed vhere idt hadt been. Der lighdthouse vos no longer a lighdthouse, undt vos of no goodt to varn ships of der danger.

“As ve stoodt dere annuder big vave come sweeping ofer undt half drowned us. A big rock just missed mein headt, undt der vater go pouring down der stairs like a cascade.

“‘Ve must go pelow undt shut der door at der bottom of der stairs,’ I say; ‘uddervise ve pe drowned oudt.’

“Der oldt man nodded as if he only half understoodt.

“‘Yah, yah; drowned, drowned, drowned,’ he saidt to himself; ‘drowned like der poor folk on der wreck.’

“I got him down der stairs pefore annuder big vave come, undt den shut der door so dot no more big vaves come into der room. Budt der place vos a sight! Dere vos six inches of vater in dere vich hadn’t flowed oudt unter der door. Budt liddle by liddle idt drained oudt.

“No more big vaves come. Idt look as if der storm, hafing wrecked der lighdthouse, vos content to lie down undt pe quiet for a vhile. Bimeby, ven der vind drop, I go out py der boiler house.

“Idt hadt gone! Vere idt hadt stood dere vos nudding! Dose vaves hadt taken idt off der rock as if idt hadt been a shellfish!

“‘Ach, dis is badt,’ I say to meinself. ‘Der lighdthouse is wrecked undt I lose my yob!’

“Der storm died down fast, undt py der time idt vos daylighdt, dere being nuddings to do budt to sit round undt vait for der supply boat to come back, I dropped off into a soundt sleep. I vakened oop an hour or two later. Der kitchen vere ve hadt been sitting vos empty. I vent up into der ruins of der lamp, budt oldt man Abbott vos not dere eidder.

“I call for him budt dere comes no answer. Den I go oudtside on der rock undt I findt him. He is lying very still on der edge of der vater. Close py him is a big log vich look like part of der spar of a ship. Preddy soon I see dat dere is someting on der spar, undt I look undt see dot idt is a man. He is quite dead, dat I see by a look adt his face.

“Den I look again. Undt den I see vy oldt man Abbott lies so still on der edge of der rock. Der face of der man on der spar vos der face of his son Harry! Undt oldt man Abbott is deadt.

“Der ship dot der oldt man, in some mysterious vay, heardt drive to her death on der rocks, vos his son’s ship, der vun on vich he vos making his homevard voyage. Vell, for a day I stay on der rock midt der dead fadder undt der deadt son, undt den der relief ship come. Dey bury der oldt man undt der boy side py side der next day, undt I leave dot part of der country; undt since den I nefer see a lighdthouse budt I dink of oldt man Abbott undt der homevard bound son he never saw.”

Not long after the conclusion of the old sailor’s story, which left him glum and taciturn, the white spiral of the Sombrero Island Light came into view, sticking up like a finger on the sandy islet whose name it bore. As they drew closer, Jack could make out a solitary figure on the beach. It was the light keeper, who was soon greeting them with heartfelt gratitude. He was probably a young man, but the anxiety he had been through had aged him in a few nights.

While the sailors were unloading the provisions and water, for drinking water on that desolate island could only be caught in tanks when it rained, Jack visited the other light keeper. He found him much better than he had been when the wireless message was sent out. In fact, after some of the remedies Dr. Flynn had sent had been administered, he declared he would be strong enough to go about his duty that night.

The light keepers explained that they were doubly anxious for a sight of the relief ship, for her appearance meant that they would go on a month’s vacation, their places to be taken by two other men the relief craft was bringing out. Before they left the island, Jack had the satisfaction of spying a distant sail on the horizon. The light keeper, who was up and about, scrutinized it through his glass. He broke into an exclamation of thankfulness the next minute.

“It’s the old Solitaire, sure enough!” he cried. “She must have been delayed by storms.”

“Looks as if one of der top masdts, idt has been carried avay,” declared Schultz, who had borrowed the glass.

“Is the Solitaire the relief ship?” asked Jack.

“Yes; the same old schooner that always comes. Oh, won’t Barney be glad! It’ll be better to him than medicine.” And the keeper of the light ran toward the tower to tell his companion the good news.

And so, as they rowed back to the ship, they left the light keepers happy, but nevertheless old Schultz shook his head as he spoke of them.

“Aber, I’d radder pe a sea-cook dan a keeper py a lighdthouse,” he said with deep conviction; and added, nodding his head solemnly, “I know.”

CHAPTER XXII—A DECOY MESSAGE

The following days passed quickly and pleasantly. The friendship between De Garros and Jack ripened, being nourished, of course, by their mutual interest in wireless, of which De Garros was a capable exponent. He did not revert again to the subject of any previous acquaintance with Jarrold and his niece and, seeing his reticence concerning it, Jack avoided the topic.

At last Jamaica was sighted on the horizon. Some hours later they were steaming through a deep blue sea along brilliantly green shores, above which rose rugged peaks and mountains. Jack and Sam gazed with delight at the scene as it unrolled.

The big steamer slowly rounded the long, sandy arm of Port Royal and took on the black pilot. Then she proceeded up the harbor, following a twisted, tortuous channel, past mangrove swamps, ruined batteries and rankly growing royal palms.

As soon as the ship had docked, Jack and Sam both received leave to go ashore. As may be imagined, they did not waste much time on preparations, but were on the deck almost as soon as the gang-plank was down. Most of the passengers followed their example, and as but few of the ship’s company were leaving the Tropic Queen at Kingston, the quaint town, with its cement stores and hotels, its dusty streets and swarming negroes, was soon thronged with sightseers.

Jack and Sam chartered one of the hacks that are everywhere present in the town, and ordered the driver to show them about the city. They found that while the main town was businesslike and substantial with its concrete structures and stores, the back streets still showed abundant evidences of the earthquake, which some years ago shook down most of the city and caused a tremendous loss of life.

Some of the houses looked as if they had been shell-ridden. The roofs had fallen in, showing the bare rafters. Walls were cracked, and in some places the entire front was out of a house, revealing the interior of the bare rooms.

“I don’t see very much that is interesting here,” said Jack at length. “Suppose we go back to the hotel that was recommended to us?”

“I’m agreeable,” said Sam. “So far, my chief impression of Kingston is dust and noisy niggers.”

The order was given to the black driver, and they were soon rolling back to the hotel that Jack had mentioned. It was a picturesque structure in the Spanish style of architecture, which harmonized well with the tropic gardens surrounding it. Passing through the lobby, where they stopped to buy postcards, the boys found themselves in a palm grove facing the blue waters of the harbor.

A delightful breeze rustled through the palms and the boys contentedly threw themselves into chairs and ordered two lemonades. They sipped them slowly while they enjoyed the view and the shade. Many others from the ship had found their way there, too. Among them was Colonel Minturn with a party of friends.

He passed the boys with a friendly nod. He had hardly gone by, when Jack, who had happened to look around, gave a start.

Standing behind a palm and watching the Minturn party intently, was Jarrold. The trunk of the tree afforded him ample protection from the observation of the man he was watching with an unwavering scrutiny.

Apparently he had not seen the boys. Jack nudged Sam and gave him a whispered warning not to turn around.

“Jarrold is there, watching Colonel Minturn. He is plotting some mischief. I am sure of it.”

“Wherever he is, there is trouble,” agreed Sam.

“That’s just where you are right,” replied Jack.

“Is his pretty niece with him?” inquired Jack’s companion.

“I don’t see her. By the way, I wonder where De Garros met them. Queer that, although they know each other, as De Garros admits, they never speak.”

“They probably met abroad somewhere,” hazarded Sam.

“I suppose so,” was the reply, and then the talk drifted to other subjects. But Jack had shifted his chair so as to watch Jarrold without appearing to do so. Before long, the man turned and strolled in the direction of a terrace which opened on the palm garden.

Jack half rose from his chair as if he intended to follow him.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Sam.

“I don’t mean to let Jarrold out of my sight, that’s all,” said Jack. “But look! He has stopped. He is talking to someone. That chap in a sun helmet. I can’t see his face, but somehow he looks mighty familiar to me.”

The young man who had joined Jarrold strolled along the terrace with him till they both found chairs. Then they sat down and seemed to be engaged in earnest conversation. The stranger, who yet seemed familiar to Jack, had his back turned to them so that it was impossible to see his features.

At length they arose, shook hands as if they had come to an agreement on some matter, and parted. Jarrold came into the garden and took a seat at a table. He scowled heavily at the boys as he passed them, but gave no other sign of recognition. Suddenly Jack rose to his feet.

“I’m a fine chump!” he exclaimed. “I ought to have brought my camera along. Hanged if I didn’t forget it!”

“Why don’t you go back to the ship for it?” asked Sam. “It’s not very far. You can get there and back in twenty minutes or less if you drive.”

“That part of it is all right. But I hate to leave His Nibs, there, unwatched.”

“Oh, as for that, I’ll take care of him till you get back,” Sam promised.

“Bully for you! Then I’ll go. And say——”

But at that moment a page came into the garden. He was calling for “Mr. Ready.”

“Means me, I guess,” laughed Jack, “although it sounds new to be called ‘Mr. Ready.’ What do you want?” he asked, stopping the boy.

“You are Mr. Ready? All right then, there’s a telephone message for you. You’re wanted back on the ship as soon as possible.”

“That’s a funny coincidence,” murmured Jack; “just as I was ready to go, too.”

As the page hurried off, Jack turned to Sam:

“I can’t think what they can want me for; still, orders are orders. You stay here and watch His Nibs yonder, then, Sam, till I get back. If he goes anywhere, follow him, but don’t take any chances. He’s got no great love for either of us, I fancy.”

“Well, I guess not, after the pummeling you gave him,” laughed Sam.

Jack hurried off. Orders were orders, and although he could not imagine what he could be wanted for on board the Tropic Queen, he knew that it was his duty to obey at once. But, to his astonishment, when he reached the ship he found that there had been no message for him so far as anybody knew. All the ship’s officers were ashore and the ship deserted, except for the crew unloading the bulky cargo, while black stevedores sung and swore and steam winches rattled and roared to the accompaniment of the harsh screaming of the bos’n’s pipe.

A good deal puzzled, Jack was retracing his steps to the hotel and the pleasant coolness of the garden, when he was suddenly accosted by a young man who stepped from around the corner of a building.

“Hello there, Jack Ready! Well, if I’m not glad to see you!”

It was Ralph Cummings, the operator whose place had been taken by Sam Smalley on Jack’s recommendation.

CHAPTER XXIII—FALSE FRIENDSHIP

Jack had no great liking for Cummings. In fact, at the time the latter lost his job on the Tropic Queen, he had left in a rage, swearing that he would “get even.”

But now he held out his hand with a frank smile, or one that was intended to be frank but was not, for Cummings hadn’t that kind of a face. He was about Jack’s age, with sandy hair, low, rather receding forehead and shifty, light eyes that had a habit of looking on the ground when he spoke.

“Well, well, Ready,” he exclaimed. “It’s good to see a face from home.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, “but if I recollect rightly you were not so crazy about seeing me again, the last time we met.”

He instinctively distrusted this fellow. There was something assumed, something that did not ring true about his apparent heartiness.

“Oh, come now, Ready, here we are thousands of miles from home and you’re still holding that old grudge against me! Shake hands, man, and forget it.”

Jack began to feel rather ashamed of his brusqueness. After all, Cummings might be more unfortunate in manner than intentionally unpleasant.

“That’s all right, Cummings,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m glad to see you, too. Here on a ship?”

“Yes, a small one, though. Not a liner like the Tropic Queen, but it was the best I could get.”

Jack felt a twinge of remorse. Cummings said this uncomplainingly and yet with an emphasis that made Jack feel uncomfortable. The man was incompetent, it was true, but still, Jack almost began to think that he ought to have given him another chance.

“When did you get in?” pursued Cummings.

“This morning. We’ll lie here two days, I guess. We’ve got a big cargo.”

“Is that so? Well, I hope we’ll see a lot of each other.”

“I hope so, too,” said Jack, without, however, very much cordiality.

“Well, come and have a drink before you go,” suggested Cummings.

“Thanks, but I never drink. I think it would be better for you, too, Cummings, if you did not touch liquor.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I wanted you to try some cola. It’s a native drink. They make it here. It’s very cool and nice.”

Jack had been walking fast and was hot. The idea appealed to his thirsty, dust-filled throat.

“All right, Cummings. Where do you go?” he said.

“Down here. We could get it at a soda fountain in the drug store yonder; but it’s better in the native quarter right down this street.”

He motioned down the side street from which he had emerged when Jack encountered him.

“All right; but I can’t stay long. I’ve got a friend waiting for me.”

“That’s all right,” Cummings assured him. “It’s not more than a block and you can take a short cut back to the hotel to save time.”

They walked down a curious narrow street with high-walled gardens on either side. Over the tops of the walls, in some places, great creepers straggled, spangled with gorgeous red and purple flowers. In other spots, drooping above the walls could be seen the giant fronds of banana plants, or tenuous palm tree tops.

Cummings stopped in front of a plaster house, badly cracked by the earthquake.

“Right in here,” he said.

Jack followed him into the dark, cool interior. After the blinding glare of the sun outside, it was hard at first to make out the surroundings. But Jack’s eyes soon became accustomed to the gloom, and he saw that they were in a small room with a polished floor and that two or three chairs and tables were scattered about.

An old negro woman of hideous appearance, with one eye and two solitary teeth gleaming out of her sooty, black face, shuffled in. She wore a calico dress and a red bandana handkerchief and was smoking a home-made cigar.

Cummings, who seemed quite at home in the place, greeted her as Mother Jenny. He ordered “two colas.”

“Great place this, eh?” said Cummings with easy familiarity, leaning back. “You know I’ve made several voyages to the tropics, and when I’m in Kingston I always like to come in here. There’s a sort of local color about it.”

“And a lot of local dirt, too,” commented Jack, rather disgustedly sniffing at the atmosphere, which was an odd combination of stale tobacco smoke, mustiness and a peculiar odor inseparable from the native quarters of tropical cities.

However, the cola, when it arrived, quite made up for all these deficiencies. It was served in carved calabashes and tasted like a sort of sublimated soda pop.

“Great stuff, eh?” said Cummings, gulping his with great relish.

“It is good,” admitted Jack. “You’d be a lot better off, Cummings, if you only drank this sort of stuff.”

“Now don’t preach, Ready,” was the rejoinder. “You can’t be a man and not drink liquor.”

“That might have been true a hundred years ago, but it certainly isn’t to-day,” retorted Jack. “The great corporations won’t hire men who drink. It’s gone out of date. The man who drinks is putting himself on the toboggan slide.”

“Say, you ought to have been in the Salvation Army,” said Cummings, with what amounted to a veiled sneer.

Strangely enough Jack did not resent this. His head felt very heavy suddenly. The bright patch of sunlight outside began to sway and waver queerly.

“I—I don’t feel very well,” he said presently in a feeble tone.

“Must be the sun,” said Cummings. “I’d better call a hack and take you to the hotel. The sun often effects newcomers like that.”

“I wish you’d get a rig,” said Jack feebly, preventing himself from falling forward on the table only by a rigid effort.

Cummings jumped to his feet and hurried from the place.

“That native stuff worked quicker than I thought,” he muttered. “Now to get a rig and meet Jarrold. I guess he’ll think I’ve done a good job. Anyhow, I’m getting square on that conceited young fool for losing me my position.”

CHAPTER XXIV—KIDNAPPED

A rig was passing and Cummings hailed the driver.

“There’s a sick man in here and I want you to give me a hand to get him out, and drive where I tell you,” he said. “You’ll be paid well if you don’t ask questions.”

“Dere’s been berry many sick mans come out’n Mother Jenny’s,” volunteered the man with a grin as he pulled up his aged horse.

“You just keep your mouth shut. That’s all I want you to do,” said Cummings with a scowl.

“Oh, berry well, Busha,” said the black with a grin.

“Wait here, I’ll be out in a minute,” said Ralph Cummings. He hurried back into the unsavory interior of the place and presently issued again, supporting Jack, who was reeling and swaying from side to side and who gazed about him with a vacant expression.

It was at this moment that a dapper little man came hastening along the street.

“Good gracious, can it be possible that that is Jack Ready in such a condition?” he exclaimed. “Being led out of a low dram shop! It’s incredible! I’d not believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

He bustled up to Cummings, who was just putting Jack into the cab, where the young wireless boy collapsed, breathing heavily and rolling his eyes stupidly about.

“My friend, pardon me,” he exclaimed, addressing Cummings, “but my name is De Garros. I am a friend of this young man’s from the Tropic Queen. In fact I owe my life to him. Is he ill?”

“Ill nothing! He’s just taken a drop too much. Sea-faring men often do.”

De Garros threw up his hands in horror.

“I would never have believed it,” he cried incredulously; “yet it must be true! Ready, are you ill?”

Jack mumbled something incoherently in rejoinder. De Garros looked his disgust.

“What did I tell you?” sneered Cummings. “I’m taking him to a hotel. He’ll be all right in a few hours.”

“I am glad he has a friend to take care of him,” declared the dapper little aviator, and he hurried on, shaking his head over the intemperance which he had been led by Cummings to believe was the cause of Jack’s plight.

“That’s another spoke in your wheel, my lad,” muttered Cummings as he got in beside the now senseless youth. “I don’t know who your friend is, but he won’t think much of you after this, if, indeed, he ever sees you again.”

He leaned forward and gave a direction to the driver.

“Drive out along the Castle Road,” he said, mentioning an unfrequented road that led to the outskirts of Kingston.

The darky nodded. All these queer proceedings were none of his business. Their road led through the negro quarter of the town and they passed hardly a white face. Such negroes as they encountered merely stared stolidly at the white-faced, reeling youth seated at Cummings’ side.

By and by the houses began to thin out. Then, in the distance, down the dusty road, they came in view of an automobile halted at the roadside.

“Stop at that car,” ordered Cummings.

“At dat mobolbubbul?” asked the black.

“That’s what I said, you inky-faced idiot,” snapped Cummings.

“My, my, dayt am a nice gen’mums, fo’ sho’,” muttered the old darky. “Ah don’ jes’ lak de looks ob dese circumloquoshons nohow, an’ Ah am goin’ ter keep mah eyes wide open. Yes, sah, jes’ dat berry ting.”

By the side of the halted car stood Jarrold. He wore a broad Panama hat and a long white dust coat.

“Well, you got him, I see,” said Jarrold, with an evil grin that showed all his tusk-like teeth, as the darky’s rickety old vehicle came to a halt.

“Yes, it was like taking candy from a child,” responded Cummings. “Now if you’ll just give me a lift in with him, governor, we’ll get started.”

Between them, the two rascals half pushed, half carried Jack’s limp form into the back of the auto. Jarrold dug down into his pockets.

“This is the right road for the Lion’s Mouth, isn’t it?” he demanded of the darky. “It’s years since I was there and I’ve forgotten much about it.”

The black looked at him with dropping jaw.

“De Lion’s Mouf out by der ole castle, Busha?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” was the impatient response. “This is the right road?”

“Oh, yas, sah, yas, sah,” sputtered the driver.

Jarrold gave him a big bill and told him to “keep his mouth shut with that.” The darky looked at the bill and his eyes rolled with astonishment.

“Dere’s suthin’ wrong hyer,” he muttered as he climbed into his rickety old rig and prepared to drive back to town. “Hones’ folks wouldn’ give ole Black Strap dat amoun’ uv money fo’ dat lilly bitty ride ’less dey was suthin’ fishy. Reckon Ah’ll do some ’vestigatin’ when Ah gits back to der town.”

In the meantime, Jarrold had taken the driver’s seat of the car and Cummings sat beside him. In a cloud of dust they started down the road, the old darky gazing after them till long after they had passed out of sight.

Then he whipped up his bony old nag to its best speed and hurried back to Kingston.

CHAPTER XXV—SAM, A TRUE FRIEND

Sam saw Jarrold get up and leave his table suddenly. The boy was on his feet in a minute and on his trail. Jarrold walked off quickly as if in a hurry. But Sam trailed him through the lobby. In front of the hotel stood an automobile, in the tonneau of which sat Jarrold’s pretty niece.

Sam got behind a pillar of the Spanish portico and strained his ears to hear what the two were saying, as Jarrold paused with his foot on the running board. A chauffeur, who had apparently driven his car from some garage, stood beside it waiting respectfully.

The listening boy could not hear much. But he saw the girl clasp her hands as if pleading with her uncle not to do some contemplated act, and he heard Jarrold grate out harshly:

“Shut up, I tell you. What do you know about it?”

Then Jarrold turned to the chauffeur.

“You can go, my man. I’ll drive myself,” he said, and then he jumped in and drove off at a fast pace, while Sam stood helplessly on the portico. Jarrold had escaped his surveillance and it appeared, from the scrap of conversation that he had overheard, that mischief was in the wind.

Even had he had the money to hire another car, it would have been too late. Sam felt vaguely that he had been outgeneraled. He went back to the hotel to wait for his chum. But lunch time came, and no Jack.

Sam began to get worried. Still, Jack might have been detained on the ship. Partly to keep from worrying and partly to occupy his time, Sam set out to walk to the ship.

He found old Schultz, the quartermaster, superintending the getting out of the cargo.

“Seen Ready about, Schultz?” he asked, going up to the old man.

“Sure I seen idt him,” was the reply.

“Where is he?”

“How shouldt I know? I vos busy votching dese plack peggars vurk. Aber, if I don’d vatch, dey all go py scheebs alretty. Yah.”

“But he came to the ship some time ago.”

“Ach! Don’d I know idt dot? Budt he leftd again, oh, an hour ago. Some fool call him up py delephones undt tell him he is vanted. Dot is pig lie. Nobotty vants him on der ship, so he go. Dot is all I know.”

Sam looked dismayed. If Jack had left the ship to return to the hotel an hour before, then he should have reached there ages ago. He was not likely to linger, either, considering how anxious he was to observe Jarrold’s movements. What could be the explanation? Was he hurt or injured, or was some plot in execution against him?

But Jack had no enemies in the world so far as Sam knew, and certainly he had none in Kingston, where he was an utter stranger. Was it possible that Jarrold—but no, that sinister personage had been quietly seated at a table in the hotel garden till the time he drove off with his niece.

Feeling puzzled and depressed, Sam went ashore once more and called up the hospitals, in the belief that his chum might have been injured. But nobody even remotely resembling Jack had been seen there. Nor did his search in other quarters result any more favorably. At length Sam went back to the hotel in the vain hope that Jack might have been delayed in some way, and that they had passed each other.

But no trace of his chum did he find there, either. The lad made a miserable pretext of eating lunch and then set out on his search again. By this time he was absolutely certain that harm of some sort had come to Jack.

As he was leaving the hotel gates, he almost collided with a figure just coming in. He greeted the newcomer with a cry of joy. In the mood he was in, Sam longed for someone in whom to confide his fears about Jack.

“Why, what is the matter?” demanded the other as Sam exclaimed,

“I am glad I met you. I’m in great trouble. It’s about Jack. He left here to go to the ship. He was summoned there by telephone. But on his arrival at the dock, he found that the message was either a mistake or a wilful hoax.”

“So?” said the aviator softly. “Go on, my young friend.”

“That much I found out by inquiry at the ship after I tired of waiting for him to return.”

“Yes, and then?”

Sam noticed something most peculiar about the aviator’s manner, but he was in no mood just then to criticize it.

“Well, that’s about all. He just hasn’t shown up and I can’t find any trace of him.”

“That is more than strange,” said De Garros in a serious voice, “when I tell you that I myself saw him not more than two hours ago.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes.”

“Where.”

De Garros looked embarrassed. He laid a kindly hand on the shoulder of the anxious lad beside him.

“I hated to believe my own eyes and I hate to tell you what I saw,” he said seriously, “but I saw your chum and my friend being helped out of a low dram shop in the negro quarter into a cab. He was—I hate to say it, but I must—tipsy.”

Sam started back from the Frenchman with flaming cheeks and angry eyes.

“It’s a lie, I don’t care who says it!—It’s a lie!” he burst out angrily.

CHAPTER XXVI—A WICKED PLAN

How Cummings came to be acting as the rascally Jarrold’s agent is easily explained. After he was discharged from the Tropic Queen at Jack’s behest, he had drifted about seeking any sort of a job. In this way he discovered that a yacht called the Endymion was being fitted out for a mysterious voyage.

There were several things about the Endymion and her crew that had prevented other wireless operators from accepting a berth on her.

No information was forthcoming as to the nature of her cruise or its destination or even who the owner was.

But Cummings was not particular. He met Jarrold on board and after an interview with the master rogue, in which he bound himself to ask no questions but obey orders, he found himself signed on as the yacht’s wireless man.

The Endymion, as we know, was a much faster boat than the Tropic Queen, and had arrived in Kingston, after her mysterious maneuvering on the voyage south, a day ahead of the liner, slipping in almost unnoticed and docking at a remote pier. As soon as the Tropic Queen docked, Jarrold, to whom alone these arrangements were known, hastened to the Endymion. He found Cummings and assigned to him the job of getting Jack Ready into his power. Cummings would have obeyed Jarrold anyhow, but the work given him held an added relish, for it afforded him an opportunity to take revenge on the lad whom he hated with a malicious envy.

As the auto sped along the road, passing few people and those, country negroes driving donkeys laden with produce for the Kingston market, Cummings related with great glee to Jarrold the manner in which he had tricked Jack into taking the drugged drink.

“I’ll take good care of you for putting the job through as you did,” Jarrold assured the treacherous youth. “With that young meddler out of the way, I’ll accomplish what I set out to do before the Tropic Queen reaches Panama.”

“Do you still intend to transfer to the Endymion as soon as you have the papers in your possession?” asked Cummings.

“Yes. I shall signal you by the red flash.”

“By the way, what happened to your apparatus the last time we exchanged signals?” asked Cummings, recalling the night that Jack played his memorable trick and cut off the current by which Jarrold was working his flash lamp.

“I don’t know, but I suspect that young jackanapes back there of having something to do with it,” was the reply.

“Well, you won’t be bothered with him now,” said Cummings.

“No; by the time he gets out of the Lion’s Mouth the Tropic Queen will be far out at sea,” chuckled Jarrold.

“How did you ever come to locate the Lion’s Mouth, as you call it?” asked Cummings with some curiosity.

“Many years ago, when I was in Jamaica for—well, never mind what purpose—an old voodoo negro showed me the place. It forms part of the ruins of an old Spanish castle, and there is a legend that the old Don who once owned it kept lions in it for his amusement. Any one he didn’t like, he’d let the lions make a meal of. Nice old gentleman, wasn’t he?”

Cummings joined in Jarrold’s laugh at his own grim humor.

The road began to grow rougher and Jarrold had all he could do to keep the machine in the track. He had no more opportunity to talk. Rocky walls shot up on one side of the thoroughfare, and on the other a steep precipice tumbled sheer down to the sea, which broke in roaring masses of spray at its foot.

It was a scene of gloomy magnificence in which the modern car with its red trimmings and snorting engine seemed strangely out of place. At length they came to a spot where a ravine ran back from the sea, splitting the towering rock masses and spanned by a narrow bridge.

Jarrold turned the car aside and ran it some distance back into a track that wound along one side of the deep cleft, at the bottom of which the sea boiled and roared.

Cummings peered over somewhat fearfully into the dark depths.

“The sea pours into that ravine, and then at high water empties into a hole in the earth that penetrates nobody knows how deeply into the bowels of the island,” said Jarrold.

“Has nobody ever explored it?” asked Cummings, unconsciously sinking his voice.

“Yes, some explorers fitted up a boat once and announced that they were going to enter the ravine, and thence penetrate into the unexplored cavern where the waters disappear,” was the reply.

“And what did they find?” asked Cummings.

“Well, they never came back to tell,” rejoined Jarrold, with grim jocularity.

He brought the car to a sudden stop. A sheer wall of rock shot up before them. It was the end of the giant cleft in the earth. There were steps cut in the forbidding acclivity and on a platform far above were traces of ruined buildings.

“That’s what is left of the old Don’s castle, up there yonder,” said Jarrold, pointing.

“And the Lion’s Mouth is up there?” asked Cummings.

Jarrold nodded.

“That’s the place,” he said.