“Looks to me as though she were abandoned,” he said, at last, lowering the glasses. “No sign of life about her, and she’s wallowing in the trough of the sea. See what you make of her, Lieutenant.”
The first officer subjected the vessel to as keen and long-continued an examination as had his superior.
“If there are people on her, they’re either sick or dead,” was his conclusion. “From her build, I should take her to be a British ship. Tramp steamer, like enough, plying between Halifax and one of the British ports. There’s no signal of distress flying. Probably the crew have left her.”
The captain and lieutenant consulted for a few minutes, and then some orders were given, and the Meteor changed her course and made straight toward the vessel.
The Radio Boys stayed where they were, their eyes glued on the distant speck that soon revealed itself to their unaided eyes as a steamer, which they judged was about three hundred feet in length. Here, at the very outset of their cruise, was a mystery, and they were eager to be in at its unfolding.
As the Meteor drew nearer, the boys’ eyes scanned the vessel from stem to stern, looking for some sign of life.
“Doesn’t seem to be a soul on board,” remarked Joe.
“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Bob, whose eyes were the keenest of any of the party. “Seems to me I saw a head pop up over the rail toward the stern just now. There it is again. By ginger, it’s a dog!”
They followed the direction of his pointing finger, but could see nothing.
“Guess you’re dreaming,” said Herb, skeptically.