CHAPTER IX.
THE BOYS MEET A "WOLF."
Faster and faster came the yacht. She was a large white craft, with ayellow funnel and two rakish-looking masts, with light spidery rigging.Between her masts was suspended a parallel sort of "antennae," wiresbetokening that she carried wireless. At her bow the foam creamed up asshe rushed through the water on her errand of mercy.
With what anxiety those on the _Good Hope_ watched her, may be imagined.Their eyes fairly burned as they regarded the race of their rescuersagainst the fire which raged below them. For the two holes cut by Roband Merritt, while they had had the good effect of attracting aid, hadalso had a less gratifying result.
Through them the air had been transmitted to the flaming mass below, andflames were now shooting up through them and enlarging the openingsevery instant. The air grew so fearfully hot that all were compelled tobeat a retreat to the extreme stern of the _Good Hope_.
Little was said as the yacht rounded up as close to the burning ship asshe dared, and lowered a boat. By this time clouds of black smoke, shotwith livid flames, were shooting skyward above the doomed craft. It wasa fortunate thing for the castaways that no wind was stirring or thisstory might have had a different termination.
The boat was manned by sailors in white duck clothes and was guided by alad wearing the Boy Scout uniform. As soon as they saw this the boysgave the cry of the Eagle Patrol. As the long drawn "Kree-ee-ee!" diedout, the boy in the stern stood erect and gave the Scout salute. Thenfollowed a long-drawn, growling shout:
"How-oo-oo-oo!"
"That's the cry of one of the Wolf Patrols!" cried Merritt.
"Yes; and that boy is a Wolf," declared Rob.
"Well, at all events he comes in sheep's clothing," the ensign could notresist saying.
The next instant the boat was under the stern and the rescued castawayswere sliding down a rope into it. Hardly a word was spoken while thiswas going on; the work in hand was too important.
But hardly had they all found places before, in an earnest voice, theensign exclaimed:
"Pull for your lives, men; spare no time."
"Why, you are safe enough now," declared the Wolf Scout.
"Far from it," declared the young officer seriously, "the log book ofthat craft spoke of dynamite on board. They used it to blast their wayout of the polar ice. I think----"
A terrific concussion that threw them all from their seats interruptedhim. Then came a blinding flash, and this in turn was followed by anexplosion that seemed to shake the sea.
"Pull for your lives!" shouted the ensign to the alarmed sailors.
Dazed as they were, they lost no time in doing so, but even thenfragments of blazing wood and red-hot metal rained about them in adownpour of great danger.
Luckily, however, none of the blazing fragments struck the boat. As soonas they recovered their faculties, the boys gazed back at the spot wherethe _Good Hope_ had last been seen. There was not a trace of her. Thedynamite had literally blown the ill-fated whaler out of existence. Onlyoily pools remained on the surface to show the spot of her vanishing.
"I can easily see that you chaps have been through some thrillingexperiences," remarked the Wolf boy, whose name proved to be DonaldGrant, attached to the Wolf Patrol of the 14th New York City Troop.
"We have, indeed," rejoined Rob, "but we would rather defer the tellingof them till we arrive on board your yacht. What's her name?"
"The _Brigand_," was the reply; "we are on a cruise through the WestIndies."
"The _Brigand_," echoed the ensign. "Isn't that J. P. Grant, the greatfinancier's yacht?"
"Yes, he's my father," rejoined Donald simply; "he's on board. You'll beglad to meet him, and I know he'll be delighted to welcome you and hearyour story."
"Did you recognize our signal as soon as you saw it?" inquired Rob.
"I sure did," responded Donald; "lucky you sent it up, too, as we wereon another course, and would not have passed near enough to see thatthere was anyone on board what we thought was just an old hulk driftingabout the ocean."
"You'll be more interested still when you hear how we made the signals,"spoke up Hiram.
"Well, I knew that the call meant that the necessity was urgent, andalthough we were going slowly at the time we soon got under full speed.Dad has been a bit sceptical about scouting, but I guess he'll admitthere's some good in it now."
"It was Scout lore that saved our lives," said the ensign quietly.
"Not a doubt of that," agreed Donald; "but here we are, almost alongsidethe _Brigand_."
The boys gazed up at the towering sides of the big yacht, at herglittering brass work, and crowds of white-jacketed sailors gazing overthe side curiously. Astern a big bronzed man leaned over the rail gazingdown with equal interest. Rob recognized him instantly from pictures hehad seen of him in the papers, as Junius P. Grant, the "Wall StreetKing," as he was called.
He greeted them with a wave of his hand.
"Welcome to the _Brigand_, young men," he hailed in a hearty tone; "youhave the Boy Scout idea to thank for your lives. Had my lad there beenfive minutes later we'd have been too late to save you."
"That's true enough, sir," hailed back the ensign; "we all thank youfrom the bottom of our hearts for your prompt relief work."
"The best thanks you can give me will be to come on board at once andget washed up and partake of the best the _Brigand_ can provide," wasthe pleasant reply.
"Yes; get on board, quick," urged Donald, as the gangway was lowered andthe boatmen shipped their oars, "you look about all in."
"We look like a lot of tramps, I guess you mean," laughed Rob, but forall that he felt a bit ashamed of their appearance. They were coveredwith grime from their fire-fighting experiences. Loss of sleep, hunger,and exposure had drawn their cheeks and reddened their eyes. Altogether,they looked very unlike the trim crew that had set out from the DerelictDestroyer _Seneca_ only a comparatively short time before.
As soon as they arrived on board, they were turned over to the steward,who provided them with quarters in which to spruce up. Everything on the_Brigand_ was appointed as luxuriously as could be possible. This factrather added to the boys' embarrassment. But when half an hour aftertheir arrival they gathered about a splendidly appointed luncheon table,their embarrassment turned to positive bashfulness. Never had any ofthem felt so out of place. The ensign alone retained hisself-possession.
It was not till Mr. Grant had tactfully interested them in relatingtheir adventures, that they forgot their self-consciousness and ate anddrank during the narrative, like famished wolves--or Eagles.
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