CHAPTER II
WHALEBOATS TO THE RESCUE
"Number one whaleboat, there! Go on! You'll be dashed to pieces if you try to rescue them," shouted the executive officer, as the boat holding Dan Davis turned about, bent on rescuing the drowning sailors.
"Cast the life buoys!"
Life lings shot over the side of the battleship, grasped by eager hands, and one by one the unfortunate sailors were pulled on board, some with arms or legs broken from being dashed against the iron sides of the battleship. A quick roll call showed that every one of the boat's crew was accounted for.
Sam Hickey had not been injured.
"Man the cutter with a fresh crew," commanded the captain from the bridge, where he was directing operations.
Sam was the first man to run up the ladder and take his place in the boat. No effort was made to turn him out. Three others, who had been in the unfortunate boat, were close at his heels, while the rest of the crew was made up of fresh volunteers.
"Man the oars more quickly this time," shouted the captain from the bridge.
The cutter was swung out and slowly lowered by the falls. At command the boat was let go, striking the sloping side of a wave which carried the boat some distance from the ship, so sure had been the judgment of the executive officer, who had given the command to let go.
At the command "oars out," the oars were quickly slipped into place. There was no loss of time now in obeying orders.
"Give way!" commanded the coxswain, at which the heavy cutter's bow raised clear of the sea and the boat began plunging toward the disabled schooner. The latter lay a long distance from the ship, the battleship's commander not daring to draw closer for fear of smashing into the sinking vessel, so strong was the sea.
In the meantime the sailors in whaleboat number one were bending to their task, their boat drawing slowly toward the distressed ship. It required heroic effort to drive the boat through that sea. A greater part of the time the craft was hidden between the great swells, the powerful searchlight from the battleship being unable to locate them. Then slowly the boat would rise, dripping, from the sea. It seemed almost as if the whaleboat were shaking the brine from her shining sides as she righted herself on the crest of some great wave, poising there for a few brief seconds, then plunging out of sight.
The whaleboat was the first to reach the lee side of the disabled schooner. The windward side of a ship is the side on which the wind is blowing; the lee side, is the opposite side, and is therefore the more quiet. In a storm a ship is always approached, if possible, on the lee side.
"What ship is that?" called the officer in charge of the small boats.
"The 'Oriole.'"
"Where from?"
"Rio de Janeiro. Cargo of mahogany."
"Pass a line."
A rope shot over the whaleboat and was quickly made secure. Slowly the whaleboat was pulled as close to the schooner as it was safe to go. At the command of the officer in charge, half a dozen sailors climbed up the rope and leaped to the deck of the "Oriole."
Dan Davis was the first man over the rail.
"How many persons have you on board?"
"Twenty men, a woman and a child. The latter are my wife and daughter," the master of the craft informed him.
The woman, lashed to the deck house, was clinging to her child, a girl of some seven years.
Without further questioning, Dan sprang for the deck house, at the same time motioning to another jackie to come to his assistance. Together they cast off the lashings; and, grasping the woman and child, led them toward the lee quarter of the ship.
By this time the cutter also had succeeded in making its way alongside, and the men of the crew of the "Oriole" began clambering over the side of the vessel in the effort to reach the life boats.
"Stand back, you men!" commanded Dan, thrusting two sailors aside as they crowded the woman and the little girl, nearly precipitating them into the sea.
One of the men attempted to strike the Battleship Boy, and was instantly knocked down for his pains. A second man came at Dan, but at that instant the red-haired Sam Hickey was projected at their very feet, where he had been thrown by a lurch of the ship as he was clambering over the rail. Sam sprang to his feet and made short work of the second sailor.
"Help me get the woman and child over," shouted Dan.
The woman was first lowered into the boat by means of ropes; then came the girl. As Dan lifted her, she laid an arm confidingly about his neck.
"Please, man, won't you save Tommy?" she called in his ear.
"Tommy?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Down in the cabin. Tommy is sick, he is. Please; that's a good man."
"Ahoy, down there, let some one catch the girl when I throw her."
Then, addressing the officer in charge of the boat, he said: "If you don't mind, sir, you need not wait for me. There's someone else below, I hear. I'll go for him and then I'll catch the other lifeboat."
The girl was safely caught, and, acting on Dan's suggestion, the officer ordered the oarsmen to give way together.
"Cutter, wait for me!" cried the lad, dashing along the lee side on his way to the cabin. The master of the "Oriole" had already gone over the side, and was now on the way toward the battleship, with his wife and daughter and nearly a dozen exhausted sailors from the schooner. Unfortunately for Dan, the officer in charge of the cutter did not hear Dan's shout, but a few moments later gave the command to return to the battleship, Sam being in the boat.
"Hello, Tom!" shouted Dan, half running, half falling down the companion way into the main corridor of the schooner's cabin.
He stumbled into water that reached above his knees.
"Tom! Tom!" he cried.
There was no response. Dan dived into the little cuddy. The cuddy lamp was burning, swaying widely with each roll of the ship, shedding a faint light over the stuffy room, for everything had been closed up tightly to keep the water that was now everywhere in the ship from drowning out the master's quarters.
A sewing basket, with a half-completed piece of work beside it, lay on the table, while two bunches of bananas hung suspended from the rudder casing.
Dan Davis was dimly conscious of observing all these peaceful signs, though his mind was upon other things.
Once more he raised his voice.
"Tom!" he shouted with all the strength of his lusty lungs.
"Git out, you lubber!"
Dan actually jumped. The voice had seemed to be right at his ear. The voice was hoarse and jeering. The Battleship Boy glanced about him quickly, but could see nothing that looked like a human being.
"That you, Tom?" he demanded.
A shriek of wild laughter was the answer to his question.
Glancing up among the beams, Dan Davis gave a gasp. He understood.
"A parrot! Hello, Tom, is that your name?" he questioned.
The parrot laughed shrilly.
"So you are the Tom I came down here to rescue, are you? Well, this is a nice kettle of lobster! But you shall be rescued, just the same, Mr. Thomas—Mr. Thomas, what's your other name?"
"Lubber," answered the bird of brilliant plumage.
Dan grabbed the cage. Searching hastily about, he found a skirt, which he bound about the cage, knowing that the bird would surely be drowned on the journey to the ship unless the cage were well protected. Tom protested by sundry screeches and unseemly language, to all of which Dan gave no heed.
"We must get out of here. The boat will get tired of waiting for us, and we're not going to stay here and drown," said Dan.
The lad, having bound the cage to his satisfaction, ran up the companionway. As he reached the deck a great wall of water swept over him, a ton or more of it pouring down the open hatchway ere he could get it closed. For a moment he held on desperately, unable to see or hear, for the water that enveloped him.
The wave passed and Dan staggered toward the stern, holding to the rail that was now half submerged under a foaming sea.
"Lifeboat, there!" he called as he neared the stern.
There was no response to his summons. Dan repeated his call, but his voice sounded weak and feeble in the roar of the storm. At last he reached the stern and, during a lull in the rush of water, peered over. The cutter was not there. Running to the other side, he looked over, but he saw nothing but a waste of tumbling sea.
For a moment the Battleship Boy stood clinging to the rail in a dazed sort of a way. Then the truth dawned upon him.
"They have gone back to the ship without me," he groaned. "I have been left on a sinking ship. Even if they discover my absence it will no doubt be too late to come to my rescue before this old tub goes down. Tom Lubber, it begins to look as if you and I were bound for Davy Jones's Locker at a twenty-knot gait."
"Git out," jeered the parrot.