Boys of the Wireless; Or, A Stirring Rescue from the Deep

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER VIII--QUICK ACTION

  "Whew!"

  "Some storm, Tom!"

  "I shouldn't fancy many gusts like that last one."

  Station Z quivered like an eggshell in the hand of a giant. A loosepiece of wood from the roof of the operating cabin struck a sash,demolishing two panes of glass, and the iron framework rocked to and froin the heaviest wind storm that had struck Sandy Point in years.

  Tom Barnes glanced anxiously at the delicate wireless apparatus whichshared sensitively in the pervading disturbance. His companion, HarryAshley, was looking around for something to fasten over the brokenwindow to shut out the driving rain.

  It was three days after the Morgan incident, and Tom was now fairly inthe wireless harness. It had been lowering weather all day, and Tom hadbeen glad that the rain had held off until Grace Morgan, who, with hermusic teacher, had spent a delightful hour going over the wonders ofStation Z, had gotten home before the tempest broke.

  Tom had obtained his mother's consent to his remaining all night at thetower. It was the current conviction among all coast wireless men that astormy night usually brought urgent and important service. A stormgenerally meant distress of some kind at sea, and Tom wanted to be onhand in case of emergency, as he had promised Mr. Edson.

  It was agreed that Harry Ashley should remain with him, and Mrs. Barneshad put up a fine lunch. About five o'clock when the wind began to risewith low rumblings of thunder in the distance and fitful gusts of wind,Tom held eye and attention close on the apparatus, ready for what mightcome.

  Within an hour, however, his thoughts, as well as those of hiscompanion, were mainly concerned in their own immediate environment. Thestorm was not accompanied by very vivid lightning, but the wind hadrisen to hurricane force.

  Just before dusk a particularly severe gust broke down a large elm treein sight. A little later a boat shed near the beach toppled over, andthe fragments were carried like kindling wood out into the hissing,boiling surf.

  About half an hour after dark, Harry, at the window, had sounded a quickalarm.

  "Tom!" he had shouted, "every light in the town has shut off in asecond!"

  This meant that the storm had carried down the electric supply line fromSpringville. Tom thought uneasily of the folks at home. Then theassaults of the high breeze on their aerial perch caused him to centerhis attention on their own position, and be ready to save themselves ifcollapse came.

  "Here, Harry, use this," ordered Tom, as his companion picked up a coatto stop up the hole in the broken sash.

  Harry took the square piece of matting Tom tendered. He picked a hammerand nails to secure it across the sash. About to set it in place,however, he interrupted proceedings with a violent:

  "Hark!"

  "What's the matter, Harry?" questioned Tom.

  Harry held up a hand, warningly. He bent his ear keenly towards theaperture. Then he turned to Tom.

  "Did you hear it?" he demanded.

  "Hear what?"

  "That shout--a cry?"

  "Wasn't it the wind?"

  "No, I am sure not. Come here. There it is again!"

  Tom ran to the window. Both held their breath in suspense. Both startedwith intelligence and certainty now.

  A fearful echoing cry rose far above the whistling, shrieking storm--theecho of a human voice.

  "Help! help! help!"

  "That's no imagination," declared Harry.

  "No, someone is in trouble," acquiesced Tom.

  "It's right down on the road running to the beach," said Harry.

  "Come on," urged Tom definitely, "we must investigate this."

  He seized a lantern and threw open the trap door. Harry was at his heelspromptly. A gust of wind and a forceful dash of rain nearly swept themoff their feet as they reached the ground.

  "Which way?" asked Harry quickly.

  "Hark!" interrupted Tom.

  Again the cry rang out. It was fainter, less emphatic than before, butnearer. Tom could trace the point of the compass from which it came. Heran in that direction, holding the lantern before him.

  "There he is!" cried Harry suddenly. "Don't run over him, Tom."

  Coming to an abrupt halt, both boys stared in startled excitement at ahuman being on hands and knees making his way from the side of the road.Near to him was a tangled mass of wreckage which had been a bicycle. Itsshattered skeleton covered a big flat rock, into which it had run to becompletely demolished.

  The recent rider was bareheaded, and from a wound in his temple theblood trickled down over his face and hands. One arm was helpless, anddoubled up under him at every futile attempt at forward progress.

  "Why," shouted Tom, swinging the lantern forward so that its rayscovered the man, "it's Mr. Barton."

  "Tom--Tom--" quavered the man, looking up through half blinded eyes,"quick--the doctor!"

  "What's that?" Tom challenged, keenly alive to the fact that Mr.Barton's presence and condition signified some important circumstance.

  But the man with a groan fell flat, rolled over on his side, and laylike one dead in the road.

  "Say, Tom, what shall we do?" inquired Harry in an awesome whisper.

  "We mustn't let this man die here, exposed to the storm. He may beseriously injured."

  "It looks that way. I suppose he ran or was blown into that big rockyonder."

  "Yes," nodded Tom.

  "What was he doing, though, out such a night as this on a bicycle?"

  "He said something about a doctor. Help me, Harry, we must get him undershelter."

  "We can't carry him up into the tower."

  "There's the old tool shed. Ready?"

  "Yes, Tom."

  They managed to convey the insensible man to the dilapidated structureTom had mentioned. Its roof was like a sieve, and several boards weremissing from its sides, but it afforded some security from the tempest.

  Tom placed a pile of old bags under the man's head and set the lanternnear.

  "Do you know him, Tom?" asked Harry.

  "Oh, yes, he is almost a neighbor of ours. He runs a small truck farmand has quite a family. Wet this, Harry, soaking."

  Tom gave his handkerchief to his companion, who went outside andsaturated it in a deep puddle. Tom washed the dirt from the face of theinjured man and tried to staunch the flow of blood.

  He listened at his heart and to his breathing, and lifted the limb thatseemed to have lost its natural power.

  "He breathes all right," reported Tom to his anxious companion. "His armis sprained or broken, though.",

  "We must get him home, Tom."

  "In this storm--with no conveyance?"

  "That's so. He might die, though, if we don't get a doctor."

  "He's coming to," said Tom suddenly. "Mr. Barton! Mr. Barton!" calledTom gently. "Don't you know me?"

  The man opened his eyes, stared vaguely, and then tried to arise. Hefell back again instantly, however, with a moan of weakness.

  "No use!" he gasped. "My head is splitting and I've got no strength leftin me at all. It was a fearful shock, a header full force, and--thedoctor!" he shouted suddenly, almost in a scream.

  "What doctor, Mr. Barton?" inquired Tom solicitously.

  "From Rockville."

  "What about him?"

  "My child--dying!" wailed the man. "Dr. Burr, the only one in RockleyCove, is away."

  "That's so, I remember hearing of that," assented Tom.

  "Lights in town shut off, telephone lines all down--the doctor, quick!"

  With these last words pronounced in a painful gasp, Mr. Barton succumbedand fell back unconscious again.

  "Tom, we've got to do something!" cried Harry, greatly worked up by allthat was happening.

  Tom's face showed the greatest anxiety and concern. The situation asrevealed by the disconnected utterance of the injured man was seriousand critical.

  Tom pictured the storm-swept village in his mind's eye--the lights out,telephone service disrupted, and a father despairingly endeavoring t
oget word to the nearest doctor, five miles distant.

  "Wait here, watch him," ordered Tom sharply, making up his mind what hewould do.

  "Can you do anything?" questioned Harry eagerly.

  "I'll try," replied Tom, starting in the direction of the tower.

  "The wireless!" cried Harry, his eyes snapping animatedly.

  "Yes."

  Tom was up the ladder and through the trap door in a hurry. He had hisplan, but its success depended on two circumstances: first, if Ben Dixonwas in reach of the amateur wireless outfit at the home nest; andsecond, if the telephone circuit the Dixon home was on, which belongedto a different system to that at Rockley Cove, was in working order.

  Tom speedily gave the call to the station at the Dixon place. He did notwait for any response. He repeated the call briskly. Then he flashed offthe message he had in mind. Then he repeated the message twice.Then--Tom waited.

  There was a lapse of nearly ten minutes. Tom began to consider that Benwas not on duty. Suddenly there was a spitting crackle in the receiver.

  "O.K.," came the slow message. "Telephone all right. Reached doctor. Onway to Rockley Cove now."

  "Good!" cried Tom.